The Shores of Xanadu StarCraftHalo XOver
by avatar11792
Summary: Seven Behemoth-class Battlecruisers are discovered by the UNSC one year before the discovery of Slipspace FTL. Learning from the advanced technology of their foreign cousins, the UNSC begins to take their first steps into a larger world.
1. Prologue

The Shores of Xanadu (A StarCraft/Halo crossover)

Neptune, Triton, Orbital Station 2

1300 hours

February 21, 2290

The automated station orbiting the dark blue world of Triton had been put to a most unusual task. A private group of investors had launched the device to have it monitor the nearest stars and the Oort Cloud for anomalies.

Its sensors had been long inactive, with little to peak the device's qualifications for interest. Now, however, a pulse of electromagnetic energy was recorded in a place on the borders of the Oort Cloud, and the device recorded it.

It also recorded the odd silhouettes of ships that were illuminated by the pulse, and included that in the data transmission back to warmer worlds, nearer to the sun.

Uranus, Survey Group 12

1450 hours

February 24, 2290

Harvey Dent ran into his colleague, Elizabeth Williams. "Have you seen this?"

Elizabeth smirked as she saw the sheaf of documents in his hands. "Yeah, Harvey, the readings are why we're even going out there."

"No, no," the man groaned, waving them around excitedly. "THIS!" He grabbed a particular sheet of paper in his hand and shoved it virtually under Elizabeth's nose.

She read it, then squinted her eyes. "This is your opinion?"

"Yes. That couldn't be explained by anything else."

Well, at least Harvey was calmer. Elizabeth sighed. "Okay Harvey, I'll mention this to the analysts after we get underway."

"That's all I ask, Liz." Harvey bowed, then departed.

She sighed. _Scientists_.

Survey Group 12, Oort Cloud

1560 hours

February 30, 2290

Commander Evans of the _Zephyr_ looked out into the blackness of space. They were out in the edges of nowhere, the Abyss itself, light-minutes away from civilization. A virtual eternity, for somebody in trouble. Evans was rather paranoid. He had been out here about a dozen times. Each time, virtually something would nearly cause disaster. Luckily, nobody had died. Mankind had a lot to learn about building good ships.

"Commander Evans?"

"Yes?"

"We're almost on the site of the disturbance."

"Good. Cut engines and drop to vector 370,declination 43."

"Declination 43, aye."

It was slow going. While leaps and bounds had been made with sublight engines, making travel across the solar system moderately affordable, FTL had been entirely different. So far, nobody had successfully caused FTL to proceed, leaving mankind isolated here at Sol.

"Sir!"

"What?" Nobody could get that excited out here in the middle of nowhere.

"Look at this silhouette!"

He stared in the holo-screen, at the barely perceptible gray form of a black-body object. There was a series of objects, and their sleek, hammerhead-shaped lines showed the objects to be clearly of an artificial nature.

He could feel the dollar bills rattling around in his head.

Evans managed to reach inside his mind and find the ability to speak behind the gibbering. "Somebody get me a comm. drone. Send this back to Earth ASAP. We're gonna need backup."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

UNSC Battle Group 11

2300 hours

March 11, 2290

Admiral Foster looked out at the preliminary reports on his desk and sighed. He placed his elbows on his desk, then ruffled his head and scratched his neck. The reports had begun to stream in, amplifying the headaches of the Admiralty to new heights.

Battle Group Eleven had been tasked by High Command to investigate the readings being taken from a distance by Survey Group 12's ships and tentative probes. Within the hour, they were going to rendezvous with said survey group and investigate the readings.

Admiral Foster found it virtually impossible that these were ships. They must be aberrant asteroids or somesuch of a highly-irregular nature, though intellectually Foster knew that the odds of this were astronomical. All it added up to was a headache for him.

"Admiral Foster, please report to C&C immediately. Admiral Foster, to the Bridge."

"Lord." He straightened his uniform on his broad shoulders, then left his quarters. Since it was only a few decks from the Bridge, he showed up a few minutes later. "Status."

"We're coming up within lose-range scanning, Admiral. You said you wanted to be informed."

"So I did." He sat in his chair, next to the captain's. "Let's get started."

"Proceeding, sir. We're still closing, so sensor reading will be coming in faster the closer we approach."

"Good." Foster hoped for something useful to come out of this venture. It wasn't as if fuel for sublight engines was cheap, and they had already accumulated a hell of a gas bill getting here into the blackness so far from home.

A few minutes…"Sir!"

"Yes?"

"Readings are coming in. Artificial hull signatures are confirmed, sir! Unknown metallic alloys, no energy readings!"

Well, that did it. Something interesting at last. "Bring us to Combat Alert Alpha, and get our fighters out there just in case. I want them to secure a CAP around those…how many of them are there, anyway, sensors?"

"Seven ships, sir, all adrift." The sheer enthusiasm previously exclaimed had been suppressed, cool professionalism covering up the man's excitement. "From what the instruments are telling me, they're intact and with probably atmosphere. No breaches in the hull present."

"Get us into visual range, and put them up here on the holo-screen. I want to shine some spotlights on these things."

"Yes, sir."

Former apathy forgotten, Foster stood up and approached the central oval dais. A dim silhouette of the ship appeared floating over the table, surrounding by simulated blackness. As time passed, the image got sharper, brighter, and larger, until sharp details appeared on the vessel's hull. "Spotlight on, coast around and let's see some details."

"Aye, sir." The hologram grew much brighter, as lights plied over its surface. And soon saw something incredibly surprising. "What is…?"

"Sir, its English. Reads as the Hyperion." Sensors paused, as did most of the bridge crew. Sensors tentatively asked, "Sir, is this one of ours? An experimental ship, maybe?"

"No, it's not," Foster replied, his eyes fixated on the gleaming letters. "We have had no ships with this configuration. Which means this is something very important." He stood straight from his crouch by the hologram. "I want squads of Marines in vac-suits deployed on dropships immediately. We're going to board her."

"All right. Listen Up Marines!" Sergeant Malthus screamed. "We've got ourselves a genuine human ship, but it ain't one of ours, so some shit's up the creek here! We're going to board one of those mothers, see what going on! AM I RIGHT, Marines?"

"SIR YES SIR!" the Sergeant's squad of Marines howled.

"MM-hmm, damn right I am. Now move it out, double-time! We've got equipment to load! I want all you grunts back here by 2400, IN FULL GEAR!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Move out!" His squad of Marines trotted to their equipment bays, and Malthus grinned at their brisk steps. His squad and others had been brought on board Battle Group 11 and the _Trafalgar_ for their expertise in vac-suit training and operations, as the objects had been drifting and Command had deemed it appropriate to be prepared.

And their decision was paying off in spades.

2400

The dropships launched fast and quick, speeding towards the drifting hulk of the Hyperion like insects in the dark of night. Inside, the Marines were preparing their gear, which primarily consisted of a balance between their standards weapons loadout—MA1B assault rifles with 6mm flechette rounds, MA2 pistols, and stun and concussive grenades—and the very bulky vac-suits which, along with protecting the person inside them and providing air, also contained several sensor suites and sophisticated scanning equipment in a rig on their back. In the helmet of the suit resided several HUD displays which could overlap for complete informational coverage.

Malthus stood by the door, carrying a LM-32 carbine in his gloved hands, a short-range weapon but with virtually no recoil to it. His Marines were set up fine; he walked to the pilot's area in front, crouching beside her seat as she slowly pivoted the Dropship into rotating equally with the Hyperion. "How we doing, Griffin?"

Griffin, the pilot's call sign, waggled her free right hand, then returned it to her controls. "We're almost there. The ship's determined a portside hatch, that's my target. About a minute away."

"Good." Malthus turned back and closed the pilot's door. "MARINES! We're going in a minute; get ready for a soft jump!"

"Yes sir!"

Malthus spoke into his comm unit. "Griffin, feel free to pump us."

"Glad to Sergeant."

"Knew you would, girl." He chuckled, as the air inside the dropship's compartment slowly was pumped out, leaving them in vacuum. He switched to the Marine's frequency. "Okay listen up. Soft jump, mags on full. Sling weapons until we've cracked the hatch, then standard 2 by 2 inside."

"Yes sir."

"Hatch opening, boys. We're right on top of it."

"Good." The back hatch opened, showing blackness, then a searing light from a spotlight on the back shone onto their target. "Marine, go go GO!" As one, the Marines leapt into space, drifting straight to their targets. The magnetic gloves and boots stuck out ahead, and with a gentle thump the Marines hit the hull of the vessel and stayed there. Malthus landed last, grunting from the impact. He stood up, then grabbed his carbine off of his back. He looked at the hovering black shadow of the Dropship. "We're good, Griffin. Keep those light on us."

"Will do Sergeant. I'll read my mags until you guys get back."

"Good." Malthus turned to their problem, a rectangular hatchway, clearly meant for shuttles or ships to dock with the appropriate design to it. Stepmeyer was already at work on it, his hacker equipment working in good stead. "How's it look Stepmeyer?"

"Not too bad. Maybe about 10 minutes, give or take. The security lockouts don't seem to difficult, or advanced or anything."

"Just get going, nancy-boy. Marines, set-up and guard Stepmeyer until he's done."

"Sure thing, Sarge." "Okey-dookey, sir." "Stepmeyer needs a babysitter, again?"

"Shut up Leiberman," Malthus growled. "We're all stuck out in this shit-fest together, no need to get all snappy."

"Sorry Sarge."

Thus they waited, until…"Got it!" Stepmeyer crowed, as the hatch silently slid open with a small leak of atmo. When the vapor was gone, Malthus silently motioned everybody forward. They loaded into the airlock, then Stepmeyer closed the outer hatch, then checked on the inner one. "Sarge, this one's doesn't have any lockdown on it! Here," and the inner door opened to a small room. Malthus heard the faint hissing sound and asked, "We got air. Is it good, Stepmeyer?"

"Reads clean, Sarge."

Malthus reached up, grabbed his pins, held his breath, then pulled his helmet before anybody else could do anything. They looked at him through their helmets with alarm; he released his breath, then slowly inhaled. A bit stinky, but perfectly good air. He smiled. "Wussies."

They quickly stepped out of their vac-suits, preferring the good ol' combat harnesses they had on underneath. They got their gear stowed, then Malthus nodded when they were done. "Marines, groups of three. Scope the room." It seemed to be a lounge of some sort, with a table with attached benches bolted into the floor, and even a cup on it. Malthus walked over. Cup of coffee, or some black liquid. That meant whatever had happened had happened fast, fast enough that coffee, the stuff of life, had been left behind by some poor sap. "Marines, keep your eyes and ears open. Something's a bit twitchy about this here ship."

"Yeah, like it still has gravity," Janowitz grunted.

"And more besides, you stupid ape," Malthus snarled. "Marines, we're moving out. We're going to try and find this ship's bridge, according to the good old Lieutenant up topside."

This time the Marines didn't respond. The 12-man squad, including Maltheus, swept through the corridors, determining threats or more importantly the lack of them. The rooms of the ship and its slick metallic corridors were utterly devoid of life. Past the fifth empty chamber, Janowitz muttered, "Sarge, I don't like this. Why the hell aren't there any bodies?"

"Because God is feeling nice today, Private. Now get a move on," Malthus snarled.

They continued. And continued, and continued. The blackness of the ship and its total emptiness started to take its toll, troopers twitching and swinging their flashlights and weapons at sounds of their own devising. But they were merely freaked out, not hysterical or anything; they soon walked past a corridor and found a serviceway that led to the Bridge. Malthus took his reliable crowbar and pried the thick doors open, a lot faster after Stepmeyer found a manual override release for it. The metal plating squealed apart, and the Marines fanned out.

They could see they were on top of the vessel. A large rectangular command table, much like Admiral Foster's holo-screen dais, lay in the middle of the Bridge. Two or three separate stations lay on the periphery to the left, and in front of them was the largest damn window for a Bridge that Malthus and the Marines had ever seen. Janowitz sneered, after he whistled. "Sarge, these guys are stupid."

"Why's that, Janowitz?"

"Who's so stupid as to put even a thick-glass window on the Bridge of all things? Awfully exposed to weapons and stuff."

"Well, Private, don't fuckin' fire your weapon at them and I think we'll be fine. Marines, check weapons and sling them, just in case." Malthus fingered his radio to the Griffin's freq. "Griffin?"

"You all right, Sergeant? I lost track of you guys a few times inside the structure."

"Yeah, we're fine. Tell the hot-shots that this ship is totally empty, and they can get their men on it any damn time they want."


	3. Interlude

Interlude

_beginTo: Admiral Foster, Admiral of Mars OEDC Operations_

_From: Harvey Renwald Dent, Director_

_Dear Admiral, the following is a full list of discovered materials and units request from the OSS Department at 0500 hours. Enjoy; we've hit the Motherload._

_Hyperion, Hangar Bay 1:_

_-57 Arclite-class Siege Tanks_

_-32 Crucio-class Siege Tanks_

_-25 Goliath Combat Walkers_

_-30 Vulture hoverbikes_

_-40 Cobra-class Reconnaissance Tanks_

_-15 Thor Ground Suppression Units ("Warstompers")_

_-25 Viking Assault Mechs_

_-500ADM-570 Marine Powered Combat Suits_

_-300 ANS-232 Reaper Powered Combat Suits ("Jumpers")_

_-75 Firebat Alpha (pre-refit)_

_-75 Firebat Beta (post-refit; "Marauders")_

_-30 Wraith Reconnaissance Fighters_

_-30 Valkyrie Air Suppression Fighters_

_-20 Banshee Ground Suppression Bombers_

_Hangar Bay 2: Same_

_Hangar Bay 3: Same_

_Hyperion schematics, Weapons:_

_-20 plasma ray turrets_

_-Yamato Gun_

_-27 ATA laser batteries_

_-37 ATS batteries_

_-2 nuclear missile launchers_

_Hyperion schematics, Miscellaneous:_

_-2__nd__-generation warp drive (FTL)_

_-Defensive Matrix generator system (internal defense?)_

_-50cm ablative armor_

_-20cm Titanium-A armor plating_

_-10cm Neosteel armor plating_

_Hyperion, Compartment B3:_

_-1 Protoss (alien?) Scout (fighter)_

_-1 Protoss Interceptor (combat aerial drone)_

_Norall: no units_

_-4 Command Centers each with 20 Space Construction Vehicle unit) 4 per Command Center) (Hangar 1)_

_-1 Barracks, 1 Factory (Hangar 2)_

_-1 Science Facility, 1 Starport (Hangar 3)_

_Persephone: same as Hyperion; Compartment B3 holds 1 Protoss Reaver; no Plasma ray turrets_

_Damocles: same as Hyperion; no plasma ray turrets_

_Tremeles: same as Hyperion; no Protoss machines; no Plasma ray turrets_

_Dalmar: same as Hyperion; no Protoss machines; no Yamato Gun_

_Hephaestus: same as Hyperion, except ship is filled with munitions and replacement parts for units_

_It has been concluded that this fleet was on its way to either conquest or possible outposts before it came here. Records indicate this fleet was a Dominion test for their new 2__nd__-gen warp drive. end_


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Reach

2245 hours

September 24, 2293

Lieutenant Malthus waved at Griffin as she flew overhead in her new _Ares_-class dropship, low booms rippling in the air as she circled the facility for a landing. The _Ares_-class was one of the first new designs from Cydonia Development and Research Systems, who were currently gaining prestige as one of the most successful research companies in the entirety of the UNSC.

The _Ares_, and many other military designs coming out now, were descended from the technologies found onboard the _Hyperion_, one of the lead Battlecruisers of an apparently human polity known as the Terran Dominion. The _Hyperion_'s databanks were full of both historical and tactical information, showing the alternate history of an apparently alternate universe. How those Battlecruisers had ended up where they had, Malthus didn't know, but they were a literal treasure trove in both technology and knowledge. The star charts onboard, Malthus had found out later, were exactly the same as in the UNSC's astronomical charts, and the information provided on physics, biology, and other fields had proved just as viable in the UNSC's hands as it had the Dominion's. Advances were pouring out across the field.

Some of the most insane developments, however, were from discoveries that Malthus and his squad had found. After the _Hyperion_ had been boarded by Foster's scientists, Malthus and his men had been ordered to further survey the ship. Malthus' men had discovered a massive rectangular hangar bay, one of three on the _Hyperion_ it had turned out, which was full of empty suits of powered armor in racks on the walls, all sorts of planetside infantry and heavy assault vehicles on the main floor, including scouting hoverbikes and huge siege tanks, and many many fighters and dropships loaded with ammunition and supplies hanging from clamps on the ceiling with overhead ramps to disembark from them. Furthermore, all of the other ships aside from the _Hyperion_ had also been discovered crammed full of machinery, technologies and even ammunition and spare parts, technologies several centuries more advanced than anything the UNSC had yet developed.

The seven derelict yet oddly fully functional ships had been activated, enough of their sublight drive systems deciphered that the engines were activated and a course plotted back to Mars and its highly-advanced government facilities. When the seven ships had arrived at Mars, the media had exploded, government broadcasts telling of the nature of their find. Mankind rejoiced at such fortunes virtually falling into mankind's lap, and when the UNSC ordered private corporations to join in on digging into the depths of the _Hyperion_'s databanks, mankind was more than ready to accept and dive in.

A careful inventory of all contents of the seven _Hercules_ and _Minotaur_-class battlecruisers had been undergone, and everything had been extensively catalogued and tentatively identified by the _Hyperion_'s computer banks. The ships had possessed planetary vehicles and armor from around the time of the Dominion's founding, as well as quite a few of the more advanced of the Dominion's designs. The massive rectangular bays had been unloaded, first at Mars where Malthus and his squad, along with several other groups of UNSC soldiers, had been selected to test some of the vehicles and powered armor selections, then again at Reach where it was decided to move UNSC experimental ops for reasons of security. Malthus and his men had proven adept at moving in the suits, not particularly seeing much difference between these clunky huge things and the equally-cumbersome vac-suits of their training. As a result, and because of his high levels of experience with this new technology, Malthus and his men had over the past three years been gradually spread around the UNSC providing training sessions and teaching the new grunts at the Academy just what these things were for.

The UNSC had kept Malthus here, in charge of the new units coming into production. While he had missed his men initially, Malthus had quickly grown to fill his new post. His rank of Lieutenant was low for such an important task, but he had been told that if he supervised operations here on Reach effectively enough, he might receive much more later on. Malthus not being a fool and always wanting more money, had accepted the charge.

Griffin had been assigned here too. Malthus and her had quickly started perusing the local bars together, often partying and fighting (not too different, in their eyes) from dusk till dawn. They had stopped doing that for the past few months, as her duties ferrying personnel and conducting tests on the fields of the new aerial units and Malthus' charges which were becoming more numerous each day grew beyond the point of them having "play-time" without it seriously effecting their sleeping habits and their work.

Today was one of those, Malthus thought. He straightened his new uniform off and brushed off imaginary lint from his shoulders as the Ares-class Dropship landed with a soft whine in front of him. The _Ares_-class, along with other improvements was along with being much faster, larger, and with a substantial weapons loadout for hostile encounters was also rather quiet for a bird its size. Today Malthus was giving a tour to Rear Admiral Foster of the facilities, and most importantly of the new weapons designs they were coming out with. Malthus walked towards the sitting Dropship, squinting from the overhead sun and the flat plain's expanse.

The dropship's doors slid open quickly, showing Foster and a small contingent of Marines which had accompanied him here. The Marines quickly disembarked, trotting off to the barking of their Sergeant while Foster squinted himself due to the harsh lighting. Malthus quickly approached, saluted, and offered Foster a hat. "Thanks, Lieutenant," Foster chuckled as he switched out his broad uniform hat for the unofficial-looking "baseball hat" of common use around here. Malthus offered him a pair of sunglasses also. "No thanks. So this is Reach, eh."

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid you've caught the planet at a disadvantage, it being the height of summer and all," Malthus joked.

"Well, schedule's are always a bitch to time properly. I hear you have some new toys to show me?"

"Yes sir, right this if you would, sir." The two walked off. Foster looked away from the landing area. Marines could be seen in the distance trotting along in their powered suits, learning the capabilities of their suits for maximal effectiveness. Further off, the crack of weapons fire could be heard as more Marines tested their weapons proficiency. On the horizon, rolling green hills clambered up before their eyes, massive but rounded hilltops glowing green with life.

"We have several surprises for you, sir. We recently finished the last touches on the Pulse Rifle, but the Smartgun's been giving us some problems with its auto-targeting software."

"So I've heard. Anything we can do to push things along faster?"

"Nothing but time, sir. We certainly have all of the funding we'll ever need."

"So you do." They shared a chuckle, then entered the hardened Command Center that was operating as their base of operations. One of the ones from the _Norall_, this Command Center was being field-tested, weaknesses in the system being deduced. There were quite a few flaws in the design, but from what Malthus had read about them, the CC had been primarily a mining platform anyway, hence its sometimes lacking qualities in military operations.

The facility, inside, was rather large, a large open dome surrounding by adjacent chambers where operations commenced and things kept moving along. They took the elevator to the underground chambers that had been dug, one of the modifications to the CC that had proved very beneficial. If anything, most of their work was done down here, where conditions could be tightly controlled and if necessary locked down quickly. They had needed to do that a few times, Malthus gloomily thought. Those weren't pleasant memories for him.

The doors hissed open quickly, and they enter the first of three floors. "We're about 50 feet underground, sir, and with the Command Center on top of us, it's very protected. Underneath this floor, the top one, are three more floors, each with different experiments and testing areas for different equipment. We've assembled everything on this floor for your convenience, sir."

"Good, good," Foster nodded.

The two entered a sterile white room. Two flat tables were layed out in front of them, and behind them lay a firing chamber, an open circle where stationary turrets could pop up in the guise of enemy targets, innocent civilians, bug-eyed monsters, or autonomous killer robots. "We like to provide some variety, sir, just in case," Malthus joked to Foster as he explained the setup. They both laughed.

Foster turned his attention to the table, which were festooned in various odd weapons and items. "Show me what some of this stuff does, Lieutenant."

Malthus grabbed the first item. He had trained thoroughly with all of these weapons beforehand, for increased familiarity. "This is the Armat M41A Pulse Rifle. It fires 10mm caseless ammunition, is air-cooled, and is equipped with a laser sight and an under-slung 30mm grenade launcher. It has about 100 rounds per clip." He picked up a small cylinder, barely larger than a lighter. "This is one of the grenades. Flip top, push to activate, or use it in the launcher."

Foster frowned. "Looks rather small."

"Yeah, but it has a hell of an explosive radius. The explosive compound is derived from a chemical formula found in the _Hyperion_'s databanks."

"Good. A demonstration of the rifle, please."

"Yes sir." Malthus quickly worked the rifle into firing position, flicked the safety off, and called out, "Chamber on." Within seconds, targets began emerging from the ground, firing rubber rounds at him. Malthus dodged, firing back. The rounds tore straight through the targets, but more popped up. He began weaving and rolling, short bursts of fire accurately shredding every path in his way. Within 45 seconds, piles of plaster targets or metal robots lay shredded and inert on the white floor. Malthus shrugged. "That good, sir?"

"Quite fine, Malthus. Is this large thing the Smartgun I've been hearing about so much?"

"Yes sir. I don't have a harness available, but this baby can really shred a room of these guys, and on much higher-settings. The gun fires the same 10mm rounds as the pulse rifle here. The autonomous control systems and feedback routines in the computer guidance systems keep your fire accurate, precise, and usually fatal in one burst, and is it uses very precise motion-detecting gear. Because it's so much bigger, it can fire over 300 rounds of ammo from 2 large clips in tandem."

"Quite impressive."

"Yeah, but it has a hell of a kick to it, which means without the harness it's really hard to fire."

"Not surprised. Continue."

"Right, sir." Malthus picked up a pineapple-shaped grenade. "A new type of fragmentation grenade. It's been modified with same explosives as the 30mm one, and has a much larger radius. Its size, though, means it can only be thrown." He put it back down, and with a grunt picked a huge rectangular block of metal. "This is the new Gauss rifle, sir. Our baby here, really. It's much lighter than the _Hyperion_'s ones, as I can barely pick it up, where the old ones you couldn't even do that."

He swiveled it around. "An unarmored person could theoretically use it, but really that's what the Pulse Rifle and Smartgun are for, for unarmored personnel." He put the heavy block of metal and components back down. "It fires 12.7mm ammunition, and can switch between standard high-explosive steel-tipped rounds, or special armor-piercing rounds using depleted uranium. The clips for type of round are fed in simultaneously, the explosive clip on the left and the uranium one on the right here." He pointed to two large rectangular depressions in both sides of the gun. "Makes things simple. Pop one out, slap another in. You can toggle between settings either manually with this switch, or with the suit electronic feed to the weapon. When linked to the weapon, it allows aiming accuracy roughly equal to a Smartgun's."

"Fantastic. That wasn't included in the original designs."

"No sir, but we…sort of included it anyway. We've tested it out over 12 times already, works fine, sir. And under budget, if that helps."

"Ah, under budget, my favorite phrase," Foster remarked dreamily.

"Well, this might reduce your enthusiasm, sir." Malthus pointed to a massive tubular object at the other end of the second table. "The Hammer-Hand isn't working, and we've gone over-budget over it, if anything."

Foster winced. "Why?"

"The concept of such powerful electromagnetic forces being used on such a scale was unknown even a few years ago, sir. The Dominion's capacitors were awfully advanced, and we're having trouble duplicating their effects."

"Gah, and to think three years ago you were just a mere grunt."

"Sergeant, Admiral, and even Sergeants can sound smart-ass if he wants to."

Foster smiled. "Growing into the job description then, eh?"

Malthus smiled. "Close enough, sir. Making bigger guns seems to be my thing, these days."

Foster walked closer and patted a friendly hand on Malthus' shoulder. "Don't worry about the Hammer-Hand, son. We'll give you all of the funding we'll need."


	5. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Reach, Primary Staging Arena

2400 hours

September 25, 2293

Lieutenant Malthus donned an experimental suit of powered armor. Unlike the Marine armor onboard the _Hyperion_, which had been meant to be installed around you, this armor possessed much less by way of armor, though it had been improved sufficiently in only three years to keep its strength-enhancing properties. The alloys used by the _Hyperion_'s Marines was very very strong, and even as of yet had not been completely analyzed for its full strength, though it was known that Marine suits were meant to provide protection against "all forms of small-arms fire."

Malthus grunted; with suits that big as standard wear, he honestly was curious what they meant by "standard" small-arms.

This new suit, the new W01 model built here on Reach, possessed much less armor, but still provided virtual invulnerability to previous UNSC weapons. It was smaller and more form-fitting too, providing more flexible movement and superior running speeds. The W01 was meant for combat testing in a few months, allowing observations to be made on the armor's performance and improvements to be made to their few suits in the time they had. Next-generation W-models would be magnitudes better, this one being primarily a test-bed.

Malthus hopped in, the upper part of the suit lowered over his shoulders. He grunted as the locks clicked, his voice echoing in the suit's embrace. "Well, this is nice and snug. You reading me, Central?"

"Reading you fine, sir. Suit activation proceeding."

Malthus moved his arm, and the previous weight of the metal limb had vanished, and he could move his limbs which were now as light as a feather. The gel layer swelled, encompassing his muscular frame securely but not tightly. "Hi," and he waved.

"Good, sir. Nice limb articulation."

Malthus stuck up his middle finger. "Yeah, it's nice. Proceeding to weapons testing."

"Yes sir."

Malthus chuckled, and picked up the Gauss rifle he had left on the ground. He threw it into the air then caught it; the rifle's weight, virtually unliftable without the suit, was now almost too light to notice. He checked the ammo counters; both fully-loaded clips, explosive and armor-piercing. "Priming explosive rounds. Give me some targets." He knew that Admiral Foster was watching and had prepared suitably. This would look really good, if all went well.

Out of the ground erupted autonomous robots, drones which climbed out of the shallow pits which had been dug and covered with a tarp colored the same as the ground. In a spray of earth, the robots chattered their metallic limbs, each bristling with a deadly weapon of different types. Some held, guns, some blades, some weak energy weapons. Every round that hit would count as a full-power round, but it would look suitably impressive certainly to the Admiral for demonstration. The 12.7mm rounds should wreak havoc among the drones, he thought; he'd seen the rifle in action before, but the Admiral hadn't.

They opened fire. Malthus blurred into motion, his rifle pivoting almost as if it had a mind of its own. Auto-targeting software locked on as Malthus sprinted across the empty plain, bullets and blue energy beams scything the dirt behind him. Malthus turned pivoted and fire, the 12.7mm explosive rounds tearing into and detonating inside three drones. Massive smoking holes in their chest later, the drones collapsed, but more swarmed to take their place. Malthus fired again, but the drones learned; they evaded his fire, leaping and dodging, occasionally jumping and trying to tackle flight it seemed, weapons chattering and flaring all the while. Malthus was faster than they were, and suffered only a few hits which didn't impair him at all; within minutes, he had taken them down, and robotic skeletons lay littered around him. He was sweating lightly, but overall he wasn't even wound up yet.

"Damn if that wasn't impressive, Lieutenant," Admiral Foster dryly commented on the radio. "Can I have one?"

"Maybe the next-gen model, Admiral. I'd rather have some time to work on improving this model first," Malthus grinned. He took his helmet off, the locks clicking loose, and he smelled burnt and melted metal and the earth in the air. "Overall, though, nice."

"Lieutenant, we're receiving a message from Earth."

"Relay it to me." Malthus reattached the helmet, the locks clicked. A green square descended over his right eye inside the helmet's internal grid, relaying the transmission and image of Admiral Norris. "Lieutenant."

"Admiral Norris, sir. What can I do you?"

"We have a problem. We've lost contact with the colony on PH-436, an outpost on the edge of your sector."

"I recall sir, but how's that a problem?"

"We think it's just a downed transmitter, but there is slight evidence in the last transmission there might be something…unusual going on. Your Marines on Reach are the closest forces in the sector. We'd like to board the _Apollo,_ which will be arriving in two days time, and have him transport you and your men to the outpost to investigate."

"We're not really prepared, sir. We're still testing our weapons here sir, and—"

"I seem to recall weapons and armor testing taking place within a few months anyway, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"But nothing, Lieutenant!" Norris calmed down. "Sorry, but it has been deemed that your combat testing is to be…accelerated in its timing, and that the risks are acceptable. It's understandable why you object, though."

Malthus scowled internally, his face twitching in disapproval. "Yes sir. Two days prep time?"

"Yes. The _Apollo_ will be arriving in approximately two days time, and you are to deliver the following communiqué which is being downloaded to you now to him. They are his orders. You are given free reign to bring whatever equipment you deem necessary, though I'd heavily recommend bringing everybody you have there available at the very least."

"I'd agree, sir. If this is such a high priority, then I think I will bring everybody, just in case."

"Then we're on common ground. I'll see what I can dredge up on the outpost itself for you, and get it to you before you depart."

"That'd be appreciated, sir."

"Very well. Good luck, Lieutenant Malthus. You might need it." Norris' image winked out on the green drop-down window above Malthus' eye, and with a twitch of his eye Malthus retracted it. He sighed; this was a bitch.

"Hey Central, gather all the Marines in the briefing room, priority one. I don't care if they're sleeping or not, just get them up and in there. Admiral Foster, I'm afraid we're to have to cut our little demo short." Malthus began walking back to the base.

Foster spoke over the radio, his voice etched in confusion. "What's happened, Malthus?"

"Not exactly sure yet sir, but it doesn't look good."


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mars Consortium, Mars

1245 hours

December 23, 2290

_3 years earlier_

"What's the rush Mr. Dent, and why the hell have we been called here?"

Mr. Dent paused in his frantic rush down the hallway with Admiral Foster and Norris in tow. His eyes were round with fear, and something else. "You mean nobody's told you?"

"No, nothing." That was Norris, this time.

Dent gulped. "OK, this is a really bad thing we just discovered, and we're "in a rush" so I can show you it. This has been rendered absolutely Top Secret by UNSC Command, gentlemen." He turned and continued running. Foster and Norris turned, shrugged to each other in confusion, then followed.

Their journey ended in the C&C chambers of the Command Center. The Command Centers from the _Norall_ had been brought down to Mars for analysis. Currently, the room was a mess. Panels had been pulled everywhere for technicians to analyze their innards, wires were spewed out all over the floor, and excited garbling permeated the air as technicians discovered one interesting doodad after another. Foster and Norris looked decidedly uncomfortable at viewing this, and more so when Dent beaconed them forward. They walked headlong into the maelstrom of activity. Norris shouted over the din, "Hey Harvey, why couldn't this be reported to us without us coming here?"

Dent reached a miraculously intact computer console, away from the swarming technicians, and keyed it up. "Gentlemen, this information's too sensitive for us to do that."

Foster and Norris loomed above him. Dent was accessing the Command Center's mainframe, but not any section…"The History section? We've already gone over this before, I've read the reports!"

"No Admiral Foster. There's been several locked files and sub-programs that we haven't been able to reach until now. They were using some very advanced algorithmic coding for security passwords and such, but we've succeeded in cracking it.

"And…here," he sighed, and pressed a button. The screen flickered, then reformed into a…video, but a video of… "What in God's name are those?" Norris breathed.

The video was shown from somebody's perspective, as the image bounced around. Probably a Marine, as figures running Marine powered armor suits were everywhere, and firing their huge weapons at fully automatic. Snippets of transmissions assaulted their ears; something going very wrong. Calls of evacuation, but for what purpose?

The camera's viewpoint swiveled, and Norris and Foster suddenly saw them. Creatures from beyond the vaguest imaginings of Hell itself, clothed in spikes, and claws and fangs. Their screeches filled the air, now that the helmet's audio speakers had been turned on. Large organic shapes filled the sky, swarms of them, uncountable numbers… "Jesus. Harvey, what ARE those things?"

"Those are what the Dominion called the Zerg." He paused the image, just a large serpent with scythes for hands reared up suddenly in front of the Marine, its fang-filled jaws filling to encompass the screen. The video froze on that horrifying note. "The Dominion apparently was formed during the Zerg's first invasion of their area of space, and primarily was viewed as an anti-Zerg military."

"What the hell do these…things, do?" Foster snarled. His eyes were glazed and dilated, just like Harvey's still were.

"The Zerg swarm entire planets, absorbing all biomass and potential resources in the area. If native life is found, they assimilate all useful genetic attributes from that life and kill whatever is left that was not deemed useful. According to the Dominion, the Zerg evolve and change radically fast to incorporate these new genetic attributes and features. New bio-units were emerging just six months after the Zerg had begun infesting the Dominion's worlds, and were VERY effective."

"My God."

Harvey continued. "High Command, ever since footage of this and another race called the Protoss emerged from our discoveries, has been planning for the long-term approach. The UNSC hasn't encountered aliens yet, but High Command wants us to be more than capable of dealing with them when we get around to seeing them, if they prove hostile. Also, they don't want to take the chance that there is a version of the Zerg and Protoss in THIS universe, and if they are we still want to be prepared for them."

"Why us?"

"Yourself and Admiral Norris here have been deemed the "Guys in Charge" of this show. Norris will remain here on Mars, and will supervise the analysis of the Protoss Scout and Interceptor that were discovered in the ship's hidden rooms. Admiral Foster will take the bulk of the Terran equipment, including the Hyperion, and will depart to a new facility that's being constructed, on a remote colony called Reach." Harvey handed a sheaf of thick folders to each of them.

Both Admirals looked stunned, but their minds were whirring at the implications.

Harvey looked at their faces, and said gently, "Fleet Admiral Cain would like to speak to you two immediately. She' three decks above me in Conference Bay One, you'll get the rest of the specifics there."

The two men looked at Harvey, then at the information in their clutches, then turned and departed.

Reach, Central Staging Area

1250 hours

September 27, 2293

_Present Day_

Flocks of _Ares_-class dropships had descended over the primary Command Center. Malthus had immediately ordered all of the advanced weapons onboard, and the new weapons and suits to be distributed to as many of his Marines as possible. With over 300 Marines, however, this might prove to be a problem, and indeed this left over 100 of his men in their UNSC traditional carbon nanotube-woven flak jackets, arm and leg padding and helmets. In those two days he had pushed production of the new helmets as much as possible, and he had over 87 of his men equipped at the very least with the datalink capabilities as the guys in his suits.

Over the past two days Malthus had run his men ragged, just to the edge of near-exhaustion. Loading up onto the Apollo and the flight out, Malthus reasoned, would give them enough time to recover. He had pushed all production of the new equipment as high as he could possibly make it go, but for now it just wasn't enough. At the very least he could supply all of his unarmored men with Pulse Rifles, there only being a few Smartguns and Gauss Rifles being unusable except by Marines in the W01 suits.

Malthus had poured thoroughly over the material that Admiral Norris had given him, what little he could dredge up that is. The Outpost was on a very far-out world named Gateway, for the moment. It was based around a UNSC-built Command Center, and was one of the first Dominion-inspired UNSC installations to be launched and set up. It had a population of about 3500 personnel.

The outpost was to monitor and scout the local systems, and a warship loaded with supplies would make the trip out every six months to restock their camp. The _Apollo_, one of the first of the _Titan_-class Battle Cruisers to have been launched, had been chosen this time around for the ferryboat mission. But the transmissions ceased, and hence the _Apollo_ was making a detour off its planned route to pick his men up.

Malthus was taking out all of the stops. In addition to getting the Marines even close to ready in these experimental suits and their new weapons, Malthus had been urging the engineers in his department to finish assembling the Warthogs. Based off of the Vulture, the Warthog was wider, enough to accommodate a passenger. The rear had been altered to include a mounted minigun and a person to stand and fire it. The Warthog had kept the Vulture's ion thrusters, though its top speed was much reduced due to the increased passengers.

In addition there were the new Goliath1A models, a cross between mechs proper and a walking massive exoskeleton which encased the wearer in armor plating. On each of the Goliath's arms were built-in 30mm autocannons derived from the original Goliath models on the Hyperion. On its back were retained the Hellfire missile packs, which had been reduced in size and allowed for more missiles per pack. The main addition aside from increased armor plating was an arm-mounted rocket launcher, which possessed only 10 shots before it was discarded but still provided an increase in firepower.

Unfortunately there were only about 12 of the Warthogs and about 5 of the Goliaths, as they possessed custom components that could so far only be made here in the facility. Malthus ordered them to go anyway, and the _Ares_ dropships were slowly filling up with ammunition, supplies, and replacement components in case any of the new equipment broke down.

Malthus stood back. These _Ares_ dropships would have to provide fire support for the moment, during this little excursion. Before the Dominion ship's appearance the UNSC had already possessed quite considerable knowledge of how to design dropships and fast-insertion craft of various kinds; the _Zephyr_ and new _Pelican_-class dropships were proof of that. The Dominion's dropships as a result had seemed rather clunky and delicate, as they had possessed no weapons and little armor, little more than a thin sheet of Neosteel. Needless to say, the _Ares_-class had changed that. Armed with dual 40mm chainguns mounted in front, a rotating 50mm turret that popped out in the back, and two Hellfire AAS missile pods on the sides, increased levels of armor and a faster drive, the _Ares_ could rumble in its own right against infantry and light mechanized vehicles, but heavy vehicles and tanks possessed too much firepower for them to handle.

Admiral Foster slowly approached Malthus. When he had heard of where they were going and how Norris had been acting, Foster's face had gone very still and pale. At Malthus' subtle inquiry, Foster had refused to comment, but Malthus knew that Foster knew more than he was saying. "How are we looking, Lieutenant?"

"Good sir, and it's how am "I" doing. We're almost loaded."

"Wrong, Lieutenant. I have decided to accompany you on this excursion."

"Sir, we don't even know what the hell's going on out there. It could just be a downed transmitter, like Admiral Norris said."

Foster's crinkled in a nervous smirk. "Possibly," he said dryly, "But regardless, I'm pulling rank and going with you."

Malthus sighed. "Very well, sir. Are you coming down with us in the landing group?"

"Yes, but I will be staying behind at the base camp monitoring operations. I'm not stupid Lieutenant, and I know that if I go with you and something goes, wrong, I'd be a liability in a tactical situation."

"Maybe sir, but it's still good to know you're staying behind."

"Yeah. I was wondering, would it be possible to get one of those new suits, just in case I have to pull my weight?"

"You'd never be required to, sir, but I think we have my suit in repair from the other day. It should be finished within a half hour, and you can use that."

"That's fine. I'll need you to help me go over how to use it."

"Easy enough sir, it's light on the training wheels." Malthus's radio crackled. He frowned. "Excuse me. Malthus here."

"Sir the _Apollo_ is descending from orbit. She came out of hyperspace a few minutes ago, and sends her greetings."

"Tell them to stay up there, Ops. We'll come up to them. And tell them hi back."

"Roger that." The radio stilled.

Malthus turned to Admiral Foster. "Well, I'll get the troops loaded. I'm in Griffin's Dropship, if you want me to show you the ropes of the W01 suit."

"Yes, Lieutenant. I'll see you there." Admiral Foster departed.

Malthus looked at the notes in hand. He had over 230 suited men armed with Gauss Rifles, only 60 men armed with Pulse Rifles, and 10 armed with Smartguns and their attendant armored harnesses. His unarmored men had received the new tactical helmets, with the datalink capabilities. Everybody carried a sidearm, the latest MA2 pistols from Earth, and his suited Marines carried a mix of rocket launchers, grenade launchers, or explosive satchels.

He began barking. "MARINES! Assemble now! Sergeants, round your men up and get onboard, weapons prep once on station! We're leaving!"


	7. Chapter 5

Chapter Five, Part One

_Apollo_, Hangar Bay Three

1645 hours

October 14, 2293

The trip had taken over two weeks at the _Apollo_'s maximum speed, and as a result most of the Marines and auxiliary personnel had been put on ice. Cryogenic freezers had been in development for quite some time, and had been incorporated into UNSC starships once they had passed ICC approval and were deemed safe. Over 1000 personnel were frozen along with Malthus' 300 soldiers, while about 200 crew were the only ones awake. The empty hallways of _Apollo_, save for the occasional autonomous repair drone whizzing by on its wheels, were silent and dim.

The _Apollo_ was a _Titan_-class Battle Cruiser, and the third that had been constructed. Its design, the first FTL warship the UNSC possessed, was heavily influenced by the design of the _Hyperion_ and its sister ships, and as such resembled very closely this style of ship. However there a number of differences. The Bridge was not located anywhere near the hull of the ship, or in a exposed location, and was instead buried in the most secure section of the ship, the center.

Due to a certain Admiral Norris' ONI influence, the _Apollo_, as well as possessing numerous laser batteries for offensive uses, possessed multiple rotating railgun turrets, designed to function as point defense and fire on incoming fighters or missiles. They could fire either conventional explosive armor-piercing rounds, or flak rounds designed to kill the sky with super-fast metal death. The Yamato Gun that was along the spine of the vessel was also there, and had been marginally improved for longer range and power. Along with the reverse-engineered Defensive Matrix Generators from the Hyperion that had been installed, the Apollo held substantial defensive and offensive capabilities.

Inside the _Apollo_'s three hangar bays, yet another feature kept from the _Hyperion_, lay Malthus' docked dropships. Their cargo resided inside, placed there by now-sleeping Marines. Outside the dropships lay neat assembled rows of the W01 powered combat suits, which had been deactivated and placed there for convenient access.

Back in the cryogenics bay, an alarm with an accompanying red light began beeping exactly as it had been intended to, though nobody was around for the moment to hear or see it. Slowly, the occupants of the cryo-pods were being "defrosted," the actual process a lot more complicated than that. In a half hour, the pods slowly opened, and their occupants began to wake up.

Malthus was one of the first. Cryo-freeze hurt like a bitch if one wore any clothing, so everybody was naked, but a pile of their clothing had been placed by their pods before they had fallen asleep. Malthus grabbed his underwear, grunting as his stiff muscles complied slowly. Once he got his undies on, he didn't give a damn if anybody saw him. He clambered out and began putting on his clothes properly, the others finally stirring. He prided himself on being faster than others at waking up from cryo-sleep, and his Marines were faced with a fully-dressed, smirking Lieutenant as they awoke. "Come on, you slackers, you ain't getting breakfast in bed! Sergeants, get these slackers going!" He stalked away.

His skin still tingling from waking, Malthus paid a visit to the Bridge. "Sir," he said.

Captain Androcles of the _Apollo_ saluted back. "Good to have you here, Lieutenant. Sorry for the quick thaw, but we're just about to come out of warp space into the inner system of the outpost, and frankly the readings we get from there should tell us everything we need to know."

"Hope so, sir."

"I assume your men are preparing adequately?"

"Yes sir, they were crawling out of the cryo-tubes as I came here."

Androcles smirked. "Not surprised, cryo-tubes were really not pleasant the last time I got into one."

"Still that way, sir."

"Eh." Androcles turned to the viewscreen. "Go attend to your men, Lieutenant, and begin immediate Dropship departures. We need to be ready to do this as soon as possible, just in case something bad happens."

"Yes sir."

PH-436, Inner System

1750 hours

October 14, 2293

Six _Ares_ dropships would hold two Warthogs fully loaded up each with ten Marines in powered suits sitting on seats on the side, and the other dropships would carry the Goliaths in the center, four per dropship, with ten Marines on the side. In these new dropships standard UNSC policy was to place the large vehicles in the center, and the troops on the side. In this case, they were in a rush, and the Warthogs and Goliaths already carried their pilots or passengers as the case may be.

Malthus sat in his armored suit up in front of Griffin's dropship, as the horde of dropships plummeted swiftly into the atmosphere. There was no communication, and though footage of the camp revealed perfectly intact buildings on the outside, there was still no activity at all. Hell, VTOL Vikings sat intact and unused on the runway, when they supposed to be flying reconnaissance missions around the system and such. Something was very wrong. He linked himself into the comm system. "Are we ready to rock, Marines?"

"Hell yeah, Sir!"

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"YES SIR!!"

"Very good! We're going to make sure those pansy folk planetside are fine. If they're not, and some critter has crawled up their ass or something, we're gonna force them out and blow the problem to hell!"

"SIR YES SIR!"

"Hell yeah. Sergeants, standard formation. Land around the Command Center, and converge from all directions. Keep an eye on your twos and fours. Malthus out."

Griffin smirked, her cherry-red hair flickering with sunlight as they passed the terminator. "Y'have a way with words, Sergeant-I mean Lieutenant."

"Ah, Lieutenants can sound occasionally badass themselves, it's just that usually the Sergeants hold up the slack better than now."

"Well its now like you give them a chance to."

"What?" Malthus smirked. "I'm friendly enough. They get their morning coffee, I don't have a book on regs stuck up my ass like some do, what could go wrong?"

"O Lord, now you said it, 'what could go wrong?' Worst thing to do."

"Yeah well, shit happens."

Malthus saw it as Griffin did. "We're coming up on the encampment now, sir."

"I see it." The outpost was far larger than what it had looked like in pictures. The Command Center was far larger than what Malthus had seen from before, as if it had been expanded and renovated upon. To the west, a massive refinery building lay stuck into the earth, spewing steam and such into the air as automated machinery dug and barreled the new gas deposits that were unique in this sector for shipment back home. Various smaller buildings lay dotted around the area, but the space around the Command Center was empty, perfect for a soft insertion like this.

Malthus picked up his Gauss Rifle, cradling it lovingly. "Well, here we go. Coordinate with the others, make sure nobody bumps into each other."

With expert precision Griffin maneuvered her dropship into position, and settled down gently. Malthus rose, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey Griff, keep an eye out would ya? And keep your doors closed after we leave."

"Hell yeah, Lieutenant. Go kick some ass."

Malthus walked into the rear compartment. Admiral Norris, as well as his Marines and the two Warthogs were fully suited up and ready to depart. "Just a few words, Marines. Gather round." They did as instructed. "I know we haven't been training together as a unit, but just stick to your partner and you should be fine. Watch each other's backs, pass it on." He clapped the Marine's shoulder, and so it proceeded. "Now, get ready to kick some ass."

Griffin lowered the massive dropship's doors, and with a rush of wheels and the clank of feet on metal the Marines stepped foot onto the battlefield.

Chapter Five, Part Two

The Command Center stood at the center of the complex, a tall gently-sloping mountain of girders, cooling posts, metal plating and transmitter towers. It loomed over their heads like it was going to fall on them. Sergeant Hicks's voice crackled over the line. "Sir, this isn't like any type of Command Center I've seen before." The other men muttered their agreement."

"Maybe this is a renovated version? If they were going to be here for a while, that'd make sense. Anyway keep your eyes sharp people. I want a nice clean dispersal around the perimeter."

"You heard the man, let's go Marines!" By squads the Marines slowly spread out and closed around the bromdignagian structure. "Sir, we're at the east doors."

"Investigate cautiously, Sergeant. We don't know what's going quite, yet."

"You're telling me, Lieutenant. This is giving me the creeps." A soldier Malthus wasn't familiar with said, but Malthus found himself agreeing with him.

"Dammit Hudson shut your mouth. Sir, we're at the northern doors, they're locked up tight," Hicks said.

"Anybody, are the doors open anywhere?" All negatives. "All right then. Hicks, my group will rendezvous with you at the northern door. Everybody else, proceed to get inside the structure by whatever means necessary." He turned his radio off, turning to Admiral Foster and his Marines behind him. "All right let's move." He grabbed onto a passing Warthog, but even for such a fast vehicle it took a minute or so to even see Hick's group. Malthus hopped up the Warthog when they got closer. "Sergeant, how's the door?"

"Locked up tight sir. They must've cut the controls to open them from the other side. We're attempting a bypass from our end."

"Good." Anything else Malthus would have said was drowned by "GOT IT!"

"Good job Hudson. Hicks, get your men in a cordon. Watch the rear."

"Yes sir."

"Sir, we've managed to open the eastern and west doors."

"Good. Second and fourth teams, move on in. Keep an eye on your six. First squad, you're with me." His armored men nodded, then moved up to take point.

Malthus' first impressions past the door were of a deathly stillness. Another door was closed about ten feet down the corridor leading into the main complex, and that was closed also. Hudson's magic didn't work, so Malthus and three other Marines heaved the heavy doors open with their suits's strength aiding them. Past that door was an utter mess, metal plating torn from the walls, the metal grating underfoot caved in as if due to some tremendous weight on top of it, pipes blown due to pressure. Malthus' paranoia-meter skyrocketed. "Sir, this is trouble," Hicks said unnecessarily.

"I got that Lieutenant. Marines split into groups of two, scope the place. Report back anything you find out of the ordinary, and especially if your motion detectors report movement. Hicks, your squad stays with me."

"Yes sir."

As they moved forward, a few emergency lights were still on, weakly flickering across the Marine's silent suits. Wind moaned along the concourse from a hideous gash in the structure, leading all the way and poking into the open blue sky outside. Pools of water covered the floor from burst pipes running along the sides of the floor. Farther down, rain drips through further blast holes in the ceiling. Evidence of a fire fight with somebody originated from spent ammo shells littering the floor, and faint pock-marks and burns on the walls. Made from his old-school carbines and MA2A rifles, Malthus remembered; he knew what those marks would look like. The burns seemed like a jury-rigged flamethrower too, possibly. "Second and fourth squads, any progress?"

"Negative, sir. Evidence of a massive fight, but nobody's home."

"Continue investigating, then. ALL groups rendezvous at the C&C on the third floor. Malthus out."

Hudson squawked. "Sir, I've got faint movement!"

"Where!"

"About two floor down, thirty meters ahead sir."

"Malthus looked that way, and indeed his built-in motion tracker registered something as well. "Head to the stairwell. Admiral Foster, you want to come along?"

"Sure, why not?" Foster's voice wavered, then steadied in determination not to be intimidated by the death reeking in this place. He steadied his pulse rifle and followed in the center of the group.

Malthus lagged slowly behind, turning on his recorders to catch some of the more potent bits to analyze later. He passed an apartment, its doors ripped off their hinges by some tremendous force. Peeking inside, he caught wall-mounted beds ripped out, gaping holes in the wall remaining, and…blood on the floor, a lot of it. Malthus looked around quickly, but there was no body. He left, peeking into the occasional room, and many of them had been exposed to the same horrific stresses, though there were no more blood stains there at least.

Hicks called to him by the stairwell. He silently pointed to a massive hole in the grating floor just shy of the stairs itself. The hole continued, burning through floor after floor, ending somewhere down in the weak flickering lights below. The edges of the hole, Malthus noted, looks as if it had been burned or horrifically corroded in some way. "Acid," he sighed.

"I've never seen acid do this," Hicks said quietly.

"Neither have I, Sergeant, but that's what it is. Keep going."

They got down to the third floor, cautiously moving around dried pools of blood that had dripped on and through the stair grates. Some of the Marines were quietly praying as they passed them, and Malthus didn't blame them. "Move left, about twenty meters," Hudson whispered. They passed more rooms and offices. Through doors they see increasing signs of struggle: furniture overturned, papers scattered floating sodden in yet more puddles.

"Ten meters…five…we're here," Hudson said, at the entrance to a closed door. Hicks and Malthus slowly pushed on the metal frame; it swung silently inward. The two darted into the room weapons ready, and saw…

"Great," Hicks sighed. "A fucking hamster wheel."

Malthus grinned. The hamster was cute , and was chibbering at them. He reached into the cage, offered the hamster a pellet or two of food, then put it in his chest compartment that he opened, where the creature poked around, sticking its beady nose out. "Look at this way Sergeant, at least you don't get eaten by the Bogeyman today."

"Yea me," Hicks whispered as they left.

Malthus spoke. "Alright people, let's get the hell out of here, and meet up with the rest of the Marines."

Chapter Five, Part Three

Malthus leaned back on the table in C&C, growling. "You mean to tell me that 3500 people have just vanished?"

"Yes sir I do," Hudson said. "Look, I'm your best hard-wiring guy here, and I got the systems back online like you asked me to, and there ain't nobody kicking or shitting anywhere around here that the instruments are picking up. All of the thermals are dead."

Hicks, who had been standing by silently, spoke up now. "Hudson, tune it down. What do we do, Lieutenant?"

Malthus grimaced. The implications were grim. If the colonists could not be found using bio-signatures, then they had either fled outside into the wild beyond this camp, which was doubtful especially considering the shape of the CC here, or… "We can't just assume that they're dead. Marines, I want every inch of this camp searched over, they might be—"

"Sir, if I might make a suggestion."

"What is it, Hicks?" Malthus sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

"Hudson sir, he's Hicks."

Malthus froze, then shrugged. "What's your question, soldier?"

"Well sir, if they were to go anywhere, why not the Refinery? From what I can tell, that would make up the second-best defensive position, plus it still has power from what we can read, which would be a bonus to freaked-out personnel."

"Good point, Hudson. Okay, change of plans, all forces are going to converge on the Refinery. We'll search that first, then move on to the Barracks and other buildings. Warthogs and Goliaths will remain stationed right outside the primary entrance, to provide fire support in case we run into something down there. Let's move."

The refinery was a smaller building than the Command Center, but not by much. It still loomed into the sky, and from the deep rumbling that pervaded the earth as Malthus and his men approached, it seemed was still fully automated and operational.

"Get that door open," Malthus barked. "Hey HUDSON! Door!"

"Yes sir," Hudson muttered as he huffed to the door.

"The suspense is killing me," Hicks said to Malthus.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Over 3500 colonists, and they've frickin' vanished. Not damn likely."

Hudson came up. "Sorry sir, the door controls have been…melted I think by some more of that acid crap."

"Fine, we do this the hard way. Hicks, get some satchel charges up on that gate."

"Yes sir." The Marines carrying the explosive charges placed them under Hick's supervision, and when ready all of the Marines backed off, though the explosion was to be channeled inward. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Hicks shouted, and pushed the button. A white-hot fire erupted with the clamor of Heaven's bells in their ears, and when the noise and fire faded there was a gaping 30-foot wide crate in the Refinery…blown sideways.

"Maybe they should make slightly smaller satchel charges next time," Malthus muttered as he got up from where he'd been tipped over.

"Amen sir," Hicks said. "Move in?"

"Yeah. Keep an eye out; the personnel may be slightly finger-twitchy with their weapons, especially after ringing the bell like that."

"Got it sir. Second, third, fourth and fifth squads, move up. You're in first. First squad stays here."

The Marines shuffled into the cooling wreckage of the front entrance. Beyond the first 50 meters the metal walkways and pipes stopped warping and resembled something normal again; this was where the blast wave had ended. First Squad was with Malthus who chose this time to enter close to last, with sixth squad covering their asses from the rear. Malthus had left his hamster with the Warthog in a secure armored box, to bring back later to the ship. It seemed at this rate, Malthus gloomily realized, that the hamster was going to be the only survivor of the entire outpost.

Hudson squawked again. "Sarge, I got movement again!"

"Where?"

"Um, above and below, and in front and back sir! There's lots of them sir, and fast as hell!"

"Where are the other teams?" Malthus quietly demanded.

"I don't know, Lieutenant, they're—" Hudson's voice was cut off by the chatter of weapons fire, and screams.

"Double time, people! GoGOGOGOGOGO!!" They rounded the corner of the corridor to find total chaos. The Marines were fighting something black-skinned, blended in with the shadows, possessing long arms thick with muscle, with sinuous claws and talons, sharp fangs, a black carapace. They were sprinting on the walls and ceiling, swarming in their direction, heedless of casualties. Marines were on the ground screaming in pain adding to the chaos, something burning through them and their armor all at once.

Malthus opened up with his Gauss rifle. 12.7mm explosive rounds hurled into the alien mass, catapulting many of them backwards from the Marines even as they were exploding from the inside. Foster and Hicks and the Marines joined him, spraying fire down the corridor, advancing as the wounded were pulled back. "Get the wounded out of here, Hicks! That's an order!"

"Yes sir!" Hicks shouted. Grabbing a moaning man who'd lost most of his arm, Hicks picked him up and ran with Hudson and a few others close behind. They came back within seconds. "Sir, we're surrounded!"

"Suppressing fire down that way too, then!" They were at a junction point, the turn in the corridor, and it seemed the tide refused to end. Malthus pumped his grenade launcher and let fly a few rounds. They detonated into the alien mass, and the already weakened floor and walls due to acid blew out, causing many of the chittering monsters to fall through to lower levels.

Foster screamed as something came out of a vertical shaft, a long black tail slamming into his armored shoulder. He staggered back and fired upwards, moving left as the acid poured down in a shower, melting the floor. "Lieutenant we need to evac now!"

"Yes sir, thinking of something!" Malthus had an idea. "Marines, follow me!" They headed toward the hole in the wall that Malthus had blown out. On the other side lay an empty room, with a strange black-purple carpet of goo coating the floor, and most of the walls. Malthus primed another grenade and blew out the wall. "Come on!" They continued this way, Foster and Hicks holding a rear guard while Malthus used his grenades to blow the Refinery out. Within a minute Malthus used his last grenade, blew out a huge gaping crater, then ran and leapt into the last section of armored plating. With a groan and shriek of fractured metal Malthus punched through, falling out into the open air. The Marines poured out and stared in disbelief.

The ground in front of the Refinery was swarming with these things. The Warthogs and Goliaths were retreating, miniguns blaring and firing rounds into the swarming black mass lunging for their throats. Griffin and her dropships had taken to the air and were adding to the carnage, firing anti-personnel rockets and their miniguns also. Malthus and his men further added to the carnage, drawing large chunks of the aliens towards them with their fire. With swift coordinated movement, the Marines mowed them down with Gauss fire, supplemented by fired or thrown grenades.

Malthus saw they were coming through the gaping entrance they had made. He connected that with the black-purple slime, and realized with a dread certainty that those personnel definitely weren't among the living. "Do we have any more satchel charges!" With an affirmative, Malthus barked, "Give them here! Keep these things off me!" The Marines obliged, and Malthus proceeded to strap the charges together into what looks like a giant ball of rectangular package, hung together by straps. "Admiral Foster! Come with me to the airfield!" As the two left, Malthus asked, "Do you know how to fly a Viking?"

"No!"

"Fine, then hold this why I fly!" The two reached the empty landing pad, Malthus prying open a cockpit and sitting in the cockpit. "I need you to use the magnetic harness built into your suit, and latch onto the bottom of the Viking!"

"Okay!" Foster slowly climber underneath, then shouted his confirmation. Malthus slowly turned the Viking's systems on, the engines whirring to life. He lifted off into the air, explaining to Admiral Foster what his plan was. "Admiral, I put a timer on those charges, they're going to blow in about one minute! When I tell you to, let go of the package! I'm going to fly the Viking right over one of the cooling towers, and the satchels should wreck the cooling tower's equipment and cause the whole thing to blow up!"

"That's to take out the nest, right?" Foster asked.

"Yes sir." Malthus assumed Foster had come to the same conclusions he had. Okay, I'm flying low now." He was above the Refinery now, and had just finished firing a small burst of fire into the black mass outside the refinery's gate. The cooling towers were long tubes, which sort of flared at the end. His package would make it down with enough time and enough space for its fall. "Let go!" Admiral Foster's right arm let go and re-attached magnetically back to the hull of the Viking, and with chainguns blaring to cause even more destruction to the building Malthus flew back.

He swooped in at closing speeds, firing his 50mm chainguns and slaughtering the aliens by the hundreds. He drained his ammo and proceeded to land, while the Goliaths, Warthogs, and remaining Marines finished off the last of them that had come out.Foster detached gratefully from the bottom of the Viking, looking slightly dizzy.

Malthus turned his radio on full. "Everybody, get away from the Refinery! Full speed back to the dropships!" Griffin had already hers, and the dropships were opening their ramps as the Marines and vehicles piled on in a random order. Malthus shouted, "Punch it!" The ramp started to close, but a long black talons grabbed onto it. When the alien stuck its head up it was met by fire from over a dozen Gauss and pulse rifles simultaneously. It fell back to the earth, screaming as the Refinery's blast blossomed outwards, encompassing the majority of the camp in fire and death.

Malthus slowly walked back to Griffin's cockpit, and slowly sat down with a groan. He hadn't felt the few drops of acid when they were fleeing, but he was now. "Get us back to the Apollo, full speed," he said to Griffin just before he passed out. "It's important…"


	8. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Earth, Station Alpha

0904 hours

January 4, 2294

Malthus limped away from the balcony. His leg had been exposed to the Xenomorph acid blood, and had never quite re-healed. Up until New Years Day, three days ago, he had been hospitalized. The doctors had had a merry go at his leg, and had managed to rejuv most of it, but some of the peripheral subtleties had been lost.

Heh. Xenomorph, that's what the techs and doctors were calling these days. Quite a few things had changed while he'd been out. There was a major interest in PH-436, renamed Acheron recently, these days due to the infestation and attack, and there was a significant Fleet presence there in orbit ferrying troops and personnel. Most of the major scientific analysis had been finished by now: samples of the alien's acid blood, analysis of the Marines who had died and analysis of their corroded suits.

The xenomorphs had been what caused the damage to the Command Center, not that Malthus and half of his men hadn't figured that out in about three seconds. Apparently, judging from the burnt bodies of the personnel still in the Refinery and the thousands of strange spider-like skeletons around them, that the personnel had been captured by these aliens, and been used as hosts for their young. The skeletons had had massive holes punched through their rib cages, and had showed evidence of their bones being gnawed afterwards. The strange purple-black goo growing all over the insides of the Refinery was dubbed by the techs Creep, because apparently on his visual recordings from his helmet and that of his surviving men, it had been pulsating and growing even while they had raced panicked through it. The beginning biomass, it seems, had been derived from the personnel's dead bodies.

The big prize, it seemed, was the massive burnt carcass of a massive creature in the burned remains of the Refinery. It resembled a xenomorph, but was far far larger, with clawed limbs and fangs upon layer of fangs jetting outward from a jet-black spiny carapace. It seemed that that was a queen for the drones that had attacked them, as the behavior seemed indicative of swarming insects according to the professionals.

Malthus sat with a groan on the chair, and looked at the large twin wooden doors calmly. He was waiting for the meeting to commence, as he'd arrived early for lack of things to do. He had been placed on "extended leave," as had most of the other survivors of the xenomorph attack, no doubt for extended psychiatric evaluation. Shit like what had happened wasn't normal in the UNSC, at all. Malthus was taking it well, and had avoided most of the traumas or problems that had plagued the other men, but he did deeply regret having lost so many men. Out of the 300 men under his command, only 200 had been lost, including all of the unsuited men aside from one Smartgun operator. Lacking even their suit's basic armor, those guys had melted…all too quickly under xenomorph swarms.

Malthus was pulled out of his reveries by the Admiral's secretary. She smiled at him, dressed in neat professional garb, with his sidearm on his belt as had become mandatory for all UNSC officers in any branch of the service. "Lieutenant-Colonel Malthus, the Admirals are waiting for you."

"Thanks, maam," and Malthus got up with a grunt of effort and walked through the open door. She exited and left, leaving him with Admiral Foster, Norris, and Admiral Evans.

Evans was a big guy, his white uniform looking entirely too small on him. Malthus had heard also of Evan's reputations for brains, and so wasn't fooled by Evan's physical appearance and intimidation. "Lieutenant-Colonel Evans, reporting as ordered sir."

"Thank you Lieutenant, please sit." Evans friendly waved an arm. Malthus sat down with some difficulty. Evans noticed. "The leg?"

"Yeah, never quite healed up," Malthus grimaced.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's all right, never needed it anyway." Malthus grinned.

Admiral Norris leaned forward. He was a lean man, his large nose and cadaverous face making him resemble either a vulture or a hawk, depending on his mood. Right now, it was a hawk. "We called you here because you are our foremost expert on these things, Lieutenant."

"I assume you mean the Xenomorph."

"Yes."

"What do you need?"

"Well first, Lieutenant, we need you to sign these." Norris pushed a small pile of papers at him.

Malthus read them, then frowned. "Non-disclosure forms?"

"Please, we'll explain why after you do."

"Okay." Malthus signed them.

"Thanks." Norris filed them away. "Now, have you ever heard of the Zerg?"

Malthus' memories drew a blank. "No sir. Should I have?"

Evans leaned forward. "The Zerg are these." He pulled a paper-thin electronic file out from by his leg, and showed it to Malthus. The paper wavered, and a one-play video of the Zerg swarming over Dominion outposts scrawled on-screen, along with past history, genetic files, and Dominion counter-tactics. Malthus poured over the information on the screen, watching first the videos, then everything else. His eyes grew wider and his face paler as he finished; he still remembered every night in his nightmares just how nasty the Xenomorphs were, and the Zerg made them seem like kids in kindergarten.

The three Admirals waited patiently. Once Malthus finished, the paper-thin document shriveled in his hand, disintegrating into dust. "Nano-paper. Wonderful stuff, especially for top-secret folks like us."

_And now I'm one of them_. "Yes sir. Why are you telling me about the Zerg now? The attack's over, and from what little I know the Dominion and the Zerg are in a different universe from here, or something like that."

"That was before we found this." Admiral Foster handed this to him.

It was another sheet of nano-paper, but this one showed aerial footage. Marines and people in civilian gear were on the ground, studying what look like an immense flap of dried leathery skin splayed along the ground. The footage's viewpoint pivoted, and Malthus knew he must have been seeing things from a dropship's cameras or something, but that flap of skin must have been huge… "Sir, what is this?"

"Well, it resembles in consistency the skin of the dead facehugger eggs we found, except obviously much larger. In addition, you can't see it in the video but there were facehugger eggs in the center of that flap of skin, all empty. The footage was taken only a few miles south of camp; your dropships didn't see it due to the light fog in that valley that day."

"What is it?"

We think the skin was encasing the eggs, and acted as some sort of pod when it hit the atmosphere. There are a few tentative records of a large object breaking up in the air a few miles south of the camp in the Command Center's computers, so we think they're one and the same."

Malthus' mind raced. "Well, if the eggs arrived by pod, who launched the pod?"

"That's what we're wondering. We had some hints that the Zerg might be connected to this whole mess, but we weren't sure of anything until your expedition checked things out." Admiral Foster looked guilty at that.

Malthus glared at Foster, as things connected in his mind. "That's why you were so quiet after Norris spoke to me, eh Admiral? Why the hell didn't you tell me about this before? I might have been able to save more of my men than I did!"

"We know that," Evans broke in brusquely. "We had no way of confirmation, and now that we have however tentative of a hint that the Xenomorphs and Zerg are possibly connected, we can do something about it. If the Xenomorphs were sort of a vanguard, we can prepare for the main incursion, if it comes."

"Like what? How?"

"Well, you're going to work back at Reach, but you're taking the Zerg material with you. With your teams designing our military future, I want you to continue working on them, but keep in mind the threat of the Zerg. You'll have all of the info and footage we could dredge up from the _Hyperion_'s computers, and just…keep the Zerg in mind when designing future weapons and such."

"Yes sir. When do I leave?"

"Immediately, Lieutenant. Good luck." Evans shook Malthus' hand firmly, and Malthus knew that the UNSC would not be caught-footed like this ever again. The sacrifice of his men had not been in vain.


	9. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_(Inspired by the greatest writer of all, and suitably altered with my thanks to spirits dead and gone)_

_No one would have believed in the later years of the worlds of mankind that their numerous and seething worlds were being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns and worlds turned in their myriad orbits, they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water._

_With infinite complacency men went to and fro over their worlds about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same, that they swim to and fro not knowing or caring of others. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of unknown space as a source of human danger, or thought of them to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days, the days when aliens were not commonplace events._

_At most mankind fancied there might be other creatures possibly of a small microbial nature, as none others of a higher intelligence had been found during the centuries. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded man's worlds with envious eyes, eyes of hunger and ravishment, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And late in the twenty-fifth century came the great disillusionment, which was to be a most terrible and bitter blow._

Harvest

1750 hours

July 4, 2492

Private James P. Sullivan stood at his post. Harvest's sun was setting, its beauty evident as its rays struck the horizon, and Sullivan, when he could would come out to view it. Sullivan was a man who could admire nature, such as it was; he had been born on a farm much like the ones only a few miles from here, and indeed he had seen similar sunsets in the unpolluted air of Proxima. He was lucky he had managed to wrangle his patrols out to here from his command officer; he could spend a few minutes pausing from his steady patrol of Armon Base, admiring and remembering.

Armon Base was one of many others, permanent-based planetary defense centers located one or two to each major landmass. They bristled with every kind of long- and short-range weaponry imaginable, from deadly ion cannons designed to cripple ships in orbit, to massive arrays of missiles of every conceivable type, from molecular acid-warheads to conventional high-explosive, all the way to high-yield tactical and strategic nuclear weapons. The base was supplemented by ODCs in orbit of Harvest, as even though Harvest was only a thriving agricultural colony it still required protection as did all UNSC Colonies.

Sullivan's job was, aside from his normal duties, to patrol the outer perimeter of the base. This was a very large circumference to cover by one's self, so he often did it with a few other guys, usually Sanchez and Freeman after their normal nights out. Sullivan walked his section of the patrol in his Mark VII Powered Combat Suit, a miracle of modern engineering. Along with thick overlapping layers of Neosteel and Titanium-A plating, the outer coating was that of a new type of ceramic, one that could supposedly stand up to Xenomorph blood in CQC. It possessed auto-targeting software and held a variety of electromagnetic and motion-based sensors, and its pseudo-autonomous AI could even sometimes operate when the wearer was incapacitated or even dead, a useful feature should combat ever go…unconventional.

Not that the UNSC had ever met aliens or engaged in unconventional combat before. Aside from one brief encounter with Xenomorphs on Acheron over 200 years ago and three encounters on Beta Trianguli 55 years ago, nobody had ever run into aliens any more. The UNSC's policies, though influenced by the knowledge of alien forces, had never had to put their vaunted designs of weapons or armor to the test before. Sullivan liked his job. He liked the steady routines, the required weapons training. He liked firing his weapon, learning to fire and maneuver with it until it was extension of his own body.

The rifle was an upgraded MA4 model Gauss rifle, one of the new ones. It was smaller than most Gauss rifles, having miniaturized, more powerful capacitors, and could spit out a variety of munitions at literally a flick of an eye, ranging from explosive rounds through acid-tipped, nano-filament unfurlers, all the way to special armor-piercing depleted uranium explosive shells. The gun was larger than any human could lift, but with his strength-enhancing carbon nanotube muscle fibers Sullivan could lift it as light as a feather.

"Hey Sullie!" Oh lord, he'd spent too much time thinking.

He turned, Murdock was behind him closing fast. "Yeah?"

"Get your ass back inside, I'm taking your shift. Sarge wants you for something special." Murdock said that with a sneer.

"Fine by me. Enjoy." Sullivan hefted his massive rifle and left Murdock patrolling in his place. He entered the Coliseum, a massive circular arena, which was where the Sergeant's office was located. He stooped, put his weapon in the rack outside the door, then pushed the steel door open slowly. "You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yeah, wait a sec." Sullivan waited while Sarge put on the last touches of his armor. It was technically simple to put on, but Sarge managed to make the easiest tasks look like the Labors of Hercules. With one last grunt he finished, donned his helmet. With a hiss it locked into place, and the Sarge turned towards him. "Outside, Sullivan. We have a special assignment for the both of us today. You're our best sharpshooter, and they want somebody who could kill a whole flock of birds at thirty thousand paces for this one."

Sullivan wasn't a stupid man by any meaning of the term. "This have something to do with the…you know…Spartans?" He whispered the word over his comm like saying it normally would bring a lightning bolt down on your head.

"Yes." Sullivan was shocked he'd gotten that much out of him, but amazingly enough the Sarge continued. "They need some fresh bodies to test their new suits against."

Sullivan wasn't so happy being where he was anymore. He'd heard things about the Spartans. It was said that they were like ghosts or otherwise intangible creatures, that lunged from the shadows and…you were dead, like magic. And that was them naked…they'd done things to entire squads of men in powered combat suits that Sullivan initially hadn't believed, but the stories always came back virtually the same. Very, very lopsided. The Spartans had never been defeated, and though they were simulated battles, when a few dozen men and women (supposedly human, but Sullivan had his doubts) could defeat thousands, you watch your back.

And in the new suits they were getting (according to rumor)…well, Sullivan was happy he had thought out his will ahead of time.

About 30 minutes later

Catherine Halsey looked on, absorbing all of the details from every angle as yet more of Armon Base's best Marines were trounced nearly effortlessly by her Spartans. She was old, in her 90s by this point, but modern rejuv technology had kept her looking and physiologically like she was in her late 40s. She felt old though, but watching her metaphorical children do their dance always brought the fire of youth back to her.

The Marines would heal, as they always did. She leaned back in her chair, monitoring the bio-readouts of her Spartans as they performed battle maneuvers and sneak assaults, a term contradictory in meaning but the best phrase they'd come up with yet to ascribe to a Spartan's actions. Their pulse wasn't even up, even during the most strenuous of routines.

Most did not know just how much the medical facilities onboard the _Hyperion_ had revolutionized human medicine, but the results had been markedly obvious. The average human lifespan was about 125 years now, with rejuv techniques leaving people younger and healthier for far longer throughout that life. An average human life was far more…satisfying, nowadays, in that those could do what they truly desired to do, after their obligations to society were completed in their lives. Catherine Halsey both benefited and assisted in improving human medical technology even further.

But there was a dark side to this innate knowledge. The Office of Naval Intelligence had used this knowledge, for the best of intentions, to delve into some very dark corners. Catherine Halsey, a youth at the time, had been brought into the end of the first phase of the Spartan Project, an extension of Project ORION which had been to extend soldier stamina on the battlefield. The SPARTAN program had gone far beyond that, assimilating the knowledge of hundreds of specialized fields into one seamless purpose: to create, maybe not the perfect soldier, but one that was as close to damn-near unstoppable as money could buy, or blood could shed.

The Program had begun even before she was born, back in the days when mandatory DNA records were being enacted as increased UNSC protocols across the Inner and Outer Colonies. It was supposedly for reasons of public safety, but the samples proved the starting point for the program, as the best of all human DNA was slowly filtered out and interwoven for perfection in government labs.

And then, Halsey remembered, there had come her own contribution to the project, the chunk of it that had made them simultaneously more and less human. Her researches into Xenomorph DNA and biochemistry had resulted in her audacious, for the time, recommendation that Xenomorph DNA be interwoven with human DNA, for increased tactical strength and prowess. It had been vehemently opposed, of course, but Xenomorph DNA had been studied intently for nigh on two centuries by this point, and the grafting of a killer's instincts with the latest in high-tech had been too much for ONI Section III to resist.

She had led the way, and she continued leading, sometimes dragging, researchers and her fellow scientists into the future. She had been there as the babies had grown in artificial wombs, their DNA sculpted from their very inception. She had watched and monitored them as they had been trained from childhood in government facilities to do their duty, and to control and harness their sometimes too-powerful animal instincts. She had personally supervised their training, and then their cybernetic and nanite enhancements, which she and others had finished completing in design as they had aged.

And, despite all of that, they look perfectly human on the outside at least, aside from slightly sharper canines, nictitating membranes over their eyes in addition to eyelids, their acid blood and incredible night-vision, and even retractable claws. They had the greatest of human intellects, as well as the untapped resourcefulness and cunning of the Alien, inside of them. They were smart, clever, witty, but preferred to be with themselves, to stay together in their own circle. Halsey was one of the very few who'd been accepted as a member of that circle, not quite surrogate mother, but more like a friendly aunt. They liked her, and she…well, they were the children she'd never had quite the time to have.

And their suits complemented them perfectly. The MJOLINOR program had been going from the start ever since the _Hyperion_ and her sisters had been found, and it was often joked that the Mark 1 MJOLINOR suit were the Dominion's suits found onboard. Improvements had continued, from the steady incredible work of Commander Malthus of Reach, who had supervised the first tentative steps in superior armor generation, to the efforts of Cydonian Industries, who were the top manufacturers of modern ACS-300 combat suits today.

But these new suits were leaps and bounds past even those. They had benefited from the sudden breakthroughs in Protoss technology that had been made, especially their shield generator systems and superior alloys. These new suits were much lighter while still possessing markedly-improved armor protection, and they possessed the first UNSC-produced suit generators, encasing the user in a shield of force by mere thought. They provided protection from all forms of weapons fire, and the valuable samples of Xenomorph blood that had been captured and preserved so many decades ago that had been splashed onto the suits…had simply dribbled down the front and been re-captured again. They provided strength and ability enhancements, as well as possessing second-gen neural interfaces and built-in AI servitors.

Halsey had been taking her Spartans on tour around the UNSC, through some of the toughest military bases. Once on a base, they would engage in contests of military ability, usually against overwhelming odds, and the Spartans always won. They traveled from the world of Reach onwards doing this; this slowly led to the reputation of Spartans as god-like tactical figures, providing an incredible morale boosts to the average soldier in the UNSC, if their projections held up.

She sighed. "Yes John?"

Master Chief Petty Officer 117 strode into the room as quietly as a shadow. "How do you know it's always me?"

"Must be the rejuvs, John. Come, sit. How do you think they did?"

John sat delicately on a corner of her Titanium-A desk, the desk groaning but accepting the full weight of him and his suit all at once. "They did well, for beginners. Seems we're running out of quality Marines here at Harvest, though."

"Well, we're only growing the third-gen batch of Spartans now, it's to be expected that these second-gen types aren't as up-to-ball as you have. You do have more experience than they have."

"That should not be an excuse, ma'am." The Chief removed his helmet with a light tug in the proper angle, and with a hiss his pasty white features were revealed. He scratched his short brown-black hair. He needed to cut it soon. "I mean, we have this raw ability in us, according to our DNA. They should be performing better."

"Come on, they're not that bad," Halsey teased.

"Fine, you're right," John smiled. "Just…we're grown into this existence, we should do our jobs the best we could." John had always been the most introspective of the Spartans, and one of the most thoughtful. All Spartans were incredibly intelligent, but John had always pushed himself as hard as possible, denying himself basic human, or even superhuman, needs in order to become what he simply liked to call "better".

"Not every Spartan can truly be a Spartan, John, only the special ones."

"Always room for improvement."

"True." She looked out the window, at the rippling sky. She could see another ship coming in, plumes of fire showing the corvette's descent. She liked this view. "You think we should leave, then."

"Yes. I think we've drained the talent from here. We're not going to pick up any more dirty tricks of the trade here except perhaps for drinking." John smiled. "That's if the Marines on base have anything to say about it."

The Marines didn't know about the Spartan's other-worldly origins. Much of the time, aside from when they were feared, which was quite considerable, they were viewed with awe and respect, even Marines showing them the highest honors. Spartans denied this as much as possible, though occasionally even John himself found himself tempted to possibly for a "night on the town," as the Marines called it. He found their world…interesting, and certainly strange.

"Can't have that," Halsey sighed. "Okay, I'll make the arrangements. Where do you think we should be off too next?"

"Maybe Earth. Earth always has a surplus of veteran troops, and they do try to come up with more tricks to throw against us."

"That's their job. Nobody ever said that ONI ever slacks off on the job."

"True. You're tired, you should sleep." His voice switched suddenly to gentle concern.

"I'll be fine. Go out and get your fellow warriors in bed, I'll be along shortly."

"Yes ma'am." Master Chief, John, left the office as quietly as he had come in.


	10. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight, Part One

Harvest, ODC One _Becerra_

2000 hours

July 4, 2492

Automated systems noted the objects emerging from warp space at the edge of the system, their fast yet limited minds recognizing the organic signatures from their first scans. Milliseconds before the computers alerted the human duty shift on station, security programs activated, and Harvest was automatically put on full alert.

"What the hell is going on?" said Commander Sheridan. "Why are we being put on alert?"

"Sir, Security Alert Crimson Omega has been activated. All forces in the sector are converging at Harvest due to communications warp pulse at 2001 hours."

"Shit." Crimson Omega meant only one thing. "Where are they coming from?"

"We're registering over…three million small contacts sir, more emerging every minute. They're coming from the outer rim, heading straight this way."

How do they know we're here, Sheridan wondered. "Are they Zerg?"

"Contacts registering now, sir, analyzing…organic profiles register positive for Zerg bio-organic features."

"Send out Alpha and Beta Squadrons immediately. I want a closer look. Activate point defense; alert all planetary forces that the Zerg are here, and to prepare for deployment. Send word to Halsey's Spartans, it's a good thing they haven't left yet."

"Yes sir. Alpha Squadron deployed, Beta following."

Alpha Squadron

En route

"_So I says, "Isn't that state fashionable?"_

"_It's not funny Anymore Harley—"_

"_All right, cut the chatter ladies,"_ the Wing Leader said. _"Drop your socks and grab your throttle."_

Alpha Squadron's afterburners kicked in, and the squadron tripled their speed. The fighters they were flying were the best of the best, Zephyrs from Iodite Industries. Along with old-school Wraith AA missiles as their standard munitions, Alpha Squadron also possessed Halo missile pods and laser packs for close-in strafing. Those were the standard anti-Zerg munitions per UNSC doctrine, a doctrine that had been broken out until now.

Wing Leader sighed. The evidence was incontrovertible, they were Zerg. "Zerg identified and locked. This one's all yours, Harley."

"Yeeeeee-haw!" Harley screamed as let loose his salvo of Wraith missiles. The other fighters, fourteen in all, followed suit, missiles screaming out to intercept the organic pulsating monstrosities. The creatures didn't even notice, missiles hitting them head-on and exploding in full fury. Dozens of transports broke open, spilling out even smaller creatures into the void, which withered and died.

"Open up with full laser packs. Command Central Becerra, they're Zerg for sure. Send out everything you've got!"

_Roger Alpha Squadron. Beta Squadron inbound._

Coming in a pincer movement swooped Beta Squadron, their missile pods rippling out and carving a huge flank in the Zerg swarm's path. The hole filled up soon enough, but not before Beta Squadron fired off all of their Halo missile podsinto the gap, further decimating the Zerg's numbers.

It was only then that it seemed the Zerg bothered to notice the sting gnats in their flight path. Swarms of hundreds of what looked like serpents with immense black swept out towards both groups of fighters. "Mutalisks inbound," Harvey whispered. "Let's do this!" As the mutalisks engaged the fighters a vicious dogfight ensued, but one that was over quickly. The improved laser packs and reactors of Zephyr-class fighters quickly sliced through the mutalisks like they weren't even there, their thin skin boiled and cauterized. Harvey screamed in triumph as he got his first kill, but then his plane flew through the mutalisk's boiling guts, and his scream stopped as he noticed his canopy being eating away around him. "Becerra, all fighters! The Mutalisks got acid blood, they acid—"

Wing Leader lowered his head as Harvey's fighter blew apart. "This isn't going to be easy. Becerra, the mutalisks have acid blood like those xenomorph-things, request nuclear ordinance."

_Roger. Nukes inbound, evac immediately._

"Alpha and Beta Squadrons, break off NOW! Head back to base and let the nukes do their job!" The tatter fighters, with gaps in their formations regrouped and accelerated ahead of the swarm…

...just as a Shiva-class nuclear missile streaked in and impacted the leading Zerg waves head on behind them. A white light filled the rear cameras. Wing Leader turned all cams off and sped away, shock waves from the blast threatening to throw his plane into a tailspin. He regained control slowly, and once he was back on course heading back to base he turned his cameras back on.

The swarm's tiny holes had expanded enormously, creatures not torn apart but melted, vaporized under the nuke's immense blast radius. Wing Leader almost whipped his head back as another Shiva nuclear missile zipped past his fighter, then another, and another. Massive white lights further decimated the Swarm behind them.

More holes opened up in space, further massive groups of the creatures coming in even closer to Harvest than the last one. "Becerra One, we've got more swarms inbound. ETA to you is about ten minutes."

_Roger. Head back to the roost, we'll take it from here._

"Roger. Heading back to base for rearmament."

Harvest, ODC One _Becerra_

"Activate the defense grid, I don't want anything to get through. Coordinate fire with the _Athens_ and _Malta_ ODCs and _Armon_ and _Tranquility_ PDCs on the ground. Launch all fighters, orders are to establish a defensive perimeter around the holes in our tactical net. What's the status of the Spartans and Marines on the ground?"

"The Spartans are preparing fire-zones, strike teams and air support, Commander, but they can't do much until we have a better idea of where the Zerg are going to land."

"At least they'll be on their toes. Are the Zerg in range of our railguns?"

"Ten seconds, Commander."

"Good, wait ten seconds past that, then fire at will, maximum spread!"

On the hull of the _Becerra_ and its sister stations the _Athens_ and _Malta_, retracted turrets slowly spun out and readied themselves. The massive dual-railgun defense turret was a work of engineering, with firing tubes over 20 meters long on each end, firing 20-ton fragmentation slugs made of Titanium-A and Neosteel and filled with explosives. As the round was accelerated to over .2c, the round detonated at a certain range, creating a hailstorm of razor-sharp superheated shrapnel.

With tens of thousands of these turrets covering the spherical ODC's surface, firing arcs could be easily established along virtually any vector, and over 2,000 turrets were slowly rotating towards the oncoming Zerg, rounds auto-loading into their chambers.

As the turrets fired, and the fighters launched, and the nukes detonated, the sky turned as to a star-lit night, and the heavens themselves shook with the fury of the incoming fire.

Chapter Eight, Part Two

Master Chief slung his rifle over his shoulder. The magnetic grapples on his back caught the gun, and that left MC's hands clear. The Spartans had been deployed to prepare ground defense and fire teams for the oncoming Zerg. The question was, where were the Zerg going to land and begin nesting? His superiors had guessed that they would descend full-force on Harvest's massive fields of wheat and other crops, as those would contain sufficient bio-mass to feed the expanding Creep.

So the Spartans had gone south, organizing the Marines from Armon and Tranquility PDCs into quick engineering and excavation squads. Using local bulldozers from the farmers and explosives they were carving out trenches and fallback positions for the conflict ahead. They were as fully prepared as they were going to be.

Master Chief looked up into the sky, accessing the local command datalink. The data streaming across his internal visor was bad. The ODCs were holding up their own, and with the PDC's assistance were causing horrific casualties, but there were too many Zerg for the local forces to totally eradicate. They were merely thinning out their total numbers, but the _Athens_ and _Malta_ ODCs were beginning to suffer damage from Zerg Mutalisks and Guardians, and their personnel were being evacuated. Chief shook his head; the odds of any of the crew surviving the descent to the surface was low, what with Zerg surrounding them as they went.

He turned his head, as the rumble of a Thunder-class Assault Tank (above) vibrated his suit. He saw Kelly, one of the fastest Spartans and his close friend, perched on top of the massive 80-ton monstrosity hitching a ride. She hopped off of the 16-meter long tank, her suit thudding onto the ground. She got her bearings, and Chief could tell that she was smiling underneath her helmet. "We've got the eastern ridge set up, Chief."

"Good." Chief looked up into the sky, where he could vaguely discern with his magnification scops in his helmet millions of vague, small black dots across an otherwise blue sky. "Get the Marines mobilized. I don't think we have too much time left."

_Tranquility_ PDC

Command Center C&C

"Have we received clearance from Admiral Hopkins?"

"Data stream inbound, authentication codes verified and locked, sir. We're ready to fire at any time."

"Good. Ready the launch pads and get those nukes air bound as soon as possible. Target the thickest clumps of Zerg, if possible, but provide cover for the _Athen_'s and _Malta_'s crew."

The authentication codes were for the 36 massive Polaris-class underground IPBM silos on the outskirts of the Tranquility PDC. Multiple hectares of land compose a PDC's land coverage, and the IPBMs took up over a third of that. Massive missiles designed to launch into outer space and nuke other planets, IPBMs had dozens of smaller nuclear warheads which would break off of the main missile and spread around causing maximum levels of damage. With the _Athens_ and _Malta_ on the verge of destruction, Admiral Hopkins, who had recently arrived with a fleet of _Hyperion_-class Battlecruisers in the edges of the system, felt that using the IPBMs to clear out the outer orbital would buy enough time for the ODC's crews to evac.

There was however a problem with this, one that Hopkins recognized but felt it was worth the risk anyway. Polaris-class IPBMs were designed for massive levels of destruction, and detonating the large missiles so close to the ODC's positions to clear out the Zerg would, via the force of their blast, push the ODC's wreckage out of orbit and force it to burn up in the atmosphere. This would cripple the defense net but, as Admiral Hopkins had pointed out to his superior officers only minutes before, the ODCs were basically crippled wrecks anyway.

With a massive rumble of unearthly fire, the Polaris missiles leapt from their earthly cradles, multi-gigaton weapons of mass destruction ready to vaporize and obliterate their opponents. The atmosphere slowly peeled away from the thin metal hulls, and sophisticate computers in the nose of the missile detected the bio-organic forms they had been tasked to find. The first Zerg rushed by, ignoring the large cylindrical object, as it wasn't hurting them or firing at them in any way. The 36 missiles rushed outward into space, past the ODCs, past even the ODC's maximum firing ranges, back into the depths where the numbers of Zerg were so thick they began to blot out the stars. They spread out in their travels, the smaller warheads onboard breaking off and, using thrusters, plunging farther and wider across the black seething masses. And detonated.

A second after the missile had detonated, it didn't matter whether the Zerg were blotting out the stars, because there were no more Zerg. A fountain of white heavenly flame washed over the Zerg swarms, and they were cleansed into subatomic vapor. The explosions continued and continued, the very arch of the sky from the perspective of Harvest showing pure white. The shock wave of subatomic particles began to dissipate as it raced outwards from the place of its birth, but it was still quite strong when it hit the _Becerra_ ODC. Its already-tainted and scarred took the brunt of the blast full force, but the ODC remained operational. Its guns spun down, the railguns cooling as if in homage to such insane fires, but really to take advantage of the massive hole blown in the Zerg lines, if but for the few minutes it existed. _Athens_ and _Malta_ weren't so lucky, their shattered frames still getting hit by Zerg shattering in full under the blast's impact. Before the two stations fell, however, the self-destruct that had been activated blew, further purging the space above of Harvest of Zerg, shrapnel, burning up in the atmosphere.

_Becerra_'s guns spun up into full auto-firing again as the small remnant of the Zerg finally arrived. Over 900,000 Zerg descended upon the southern hemisphere of Harvest, and despite all of Becerra's efforts, and the efforts of the PDCs below, the shores of pristine Harvest were introduced to the blight of the Zerg.

Chapter Eight, Part Three

Chief was riding shotgun on the side of a Warthog, Kelly on the back manning the minigun and Charles as the driver. Behind them rode the rest of the Spartans that were with them, their force having been divided in thirds and sent to the areas south of Armon. Behind them, in turn, rode the full strength of the 23rd and 456th Regiments, composed of over 3000 men in total and over 500 APCs, 230 Thunder-class Assault tanks, 337 Stinger hovertanks, and about 155 Dresden-class AA hovertanks.

The full force was stretched along the trail, a path across the savannah that had been blazed by a single swipe of an _Hyperion_-class Battlecruiser's lasers years ago. Though for the quiet whine of the hovertanks and APCs skimming down the road at over 75mph, the wilderness was silent, as if preparing for the upcoming conflict.

John 117 didn't have time for sight-seeing. He was busy coordinating with the other regiments as they proceeded to the crash sites where the Zerg forces were landing. "Admiral, do we have any guarantee of air support?"

Admiral Hopkins looked haggard. His BCs had arrived in orbit of Harvest, but not in time to prevent the majority of the surviving Zerg from landing. His ships were coordinating from orbit the attempts to track the Zerg, but the Zerg it seems had immediately gone to ground, their bio-signatures virtually vanishing off the map. However, it was comparatively easy to spot where their main settlements were residing, as the slow but steady spread of the Creep started to swamp the southern reaches of Harvest. "We're launching our Seraphs and Pelicans to cover you, as well as orbital insertions of ODSTs with heavy weapons. We're not expecting much success with drawing their numbers to kill-zones 117, so we need you to draw off the main Zerg forces when they emerge."

"Understood. Spartan 117 out." Master Chief turned off the channel. Their force, however powerful, wasn't exactly ideally equipped to handle a Zerg force of this magnitude. Their target was the main Zerg hive cluster, and from the satellite images captured of the site it was clear that the Zerg were very busy, and growing their forces at unnaturally fast speeds, at an almost geometric progression. Master Chief wasn't entirely sure, at the Zerg's growth rates, that they'd be able to suppress their incursion. But, as always, he would do his best.

"Standard two by two?" Kelly asked quietly.

"No. We're going to lure them to the ridge," which overlooked the Zerg cluster. "It'll give us a clear shot of their main facilities, and give the Pelicans an ideal landing field on their outskirts if we can pulverize their defenses."

"If we can. There's very little information on their defenses, and what we do have came from another universe, so it may not necessarily be accurate."

"We'll make do. We're 12 miles from the ridge; make sure the Marines are ready."

"Roger." Kelly began radioing the Marine APCs, while Chief check his Gauss rifle one last time. He checked Charles' as well, earning a grunt of acknowledgement from the Spartan driver. Charles spoke a second later, "One wonders what these Zerg will be like in combat."

"Nasty." Chief could tell that from the close-in satellite pictures, a seas of talons and scythes and claws, ravenous fangs and drooling mandibles. Charles hadn't seen them yet, as he'd been busy driving along the charred trail in the wild they were on. "They make the Xenomorphs look tame by comparison."

"Nice."

Chief looked at his map. "Slow down, and pull off here. Send the APCs in stealth mode further down the trail, and we'll circle down from the ridge and set them up in a crossfire."

"Right." The Spartans pulled over, while the main force continued down the path. They selected their weapons, loading themselves down with every considerable heavy weapon possible, then silently slipped away into the shrubbery that remained. The stealth coating that had been recently applied to their armor shimmered, then the groups of over 80 Spartans shimmered and vanished. The shimmering groups split into three main groups, and approached at inhuman towards the edge of their cover.

Chief waved silently, his fellow Spartans capable of discerning his movements only by tracking systems in their armor. They stayed, and Chief slowly advanced. A sixth sense was telling him something was wrong. He slowly climbed a nearby tree thick with dead leaves, the bark flaking. He looked away, and a few yards away lay the first edges of a black-purple creep, the edges of the hive cluster. And…he froze, as he saw the looming twelve-foot tall massive figure of what could only be a Xenomorph.

John silently turned up his acoustic sensors, and could hear the creature sniffing the air, roaming the area, circling the tree. He had only seen Xenomorphs in videos of past conflicts, as none had been seen for over half a century. Nonetheless, John knew exactly what the creature was doing, both from a professional perspective and…something else, something more primal. It was looking for the Enemy, the smell of unknowns, the smell of the Enemy's blood. John shook his head; he was salivating, oddly enough. He shook his head once, then prepped himself. He needed to take the creature out before it could raise an alarm.

The Xenomorph turned just as 117 leaped at it. Armor-piercing claws raked John's visor as the armored figure leaped onto it, the shadowy figure and the man of iron rolling on the dying grass. Around them, the world was dying and for a moment it seemed that brothers long separated were only now being reunited. The moment passed, and the violence of the fight was obvious. The Spartan's gauntlets sought to get a purchase on the alien's smooth carapace, and the alien's claws raked across the Spartan's shielded visage to no avail. They parted, each looking a crack in the other's armor, to rend the foe's entrails from him. The alien hissed challenge, and the Spartan, in his helmet, bared his fangs in acceptance.

They charged, and in a flurry of moves the Spartan disoriented the alien with a flurry of swift chops to its throat and head. It armored shell took the blows, and a microsecond later the massive tail whipped on John's back and smashed him to the ground. He turned around in mid-fall and smashed his pointed fingers into the throat, caving it in. The alien reeled back, screeching pain, and John leaped on it and yanked with every ounce of strength he possessed. He ripped the alien's head clean off, acid from the hole spilling and burning the ground. He quickly took dirt and put it on top to accelerate its reaction. When the smoking and hissing stopped, he went back and motioned his companions forward. They silently pointed to the carcass. John shrugged, then motioned to move forward.

The Spartans made it to their designated attack point in plenty of time. John's Gauss rifle, rocket launcher, and his Gauss pistol were laid out in front of John as he perched behind a rock outcropping, and the Spartans did the same. They collectively peeked their heads over the edge, and looked out over the plain.

The Zerg had been very busy establishing a front. Massive structures composed of sinew, shell, and slime littered the landscape, and creatures from nightmare crawled, slithered, or raced across it. There were many of the creatures that the Dominion had deemed Zerglings, horse-sized armor-plated dogs with fangs and claws. There were Hydralisks moving around, moving in coordinated groups, their snake-like lower halves and large carapaced heads bobbing silently. There were many other creatures around, unidentified in nature, but there were many Xenomorphs already. There was even an Ultralisk, far away on the edge of the plain but visible due to its massive stature, its tusks scooping up Creep and its maw ingesting it.

Chief crouched back down, then turned to his comrades. "Charles, Amy, take the flanks. Adam, send word to the Marines to commence their attack, and to get word to Admiral Hopkins that they're beginning. Everybody else, ready your rifles." The Spartans nodded, and moved accordingly. Chief waved in a quick flick of his wrist to the other Spartans, who had taken up hiding behind other large boulders and such. In their suits, the Zerg certainly couldn't smell them.

Chief raised his rifle, priming the explosive rounds first. "Let's go."

Chapter Eight, Part Four

The world slowed as the Master Chief stepped away from the rock. The movement of the Zerg stopped, his very breathing paused; his entire world was focused on one thing, and one thing only.

His first shot caught a Zergling in the eye. It entered the creature's brain, and the bullet exploded. The Zerg's head came clean off, burning through the Creep producing an acrid stench that the Spartan could not smell. The Zerg paused, a hundred thousand heads turned as one towards his location, then the very earth trembled as they all flew at him.

"Now," Chief said, and fired again.

The entirety of the Spartans, warriors bred and born, stepped out from their cover, weapons cocked and firing. From John's limited vision, he could dimly dsetect the firing of rockets and the massive guns of the Marines and their APCs in the distance on their left, on another ridge behind a line of dead trees. Chief fired, and fired again, taking one Zerg exactly per shot. Heads and limbs exploded in perfect synchronicity, a chorus of death.

Amy and Charles, on the flanks, pulled out their M8-3 Rocket Launchers and fired. One round, then another, streaked into the oncoming swarm, causing the earth and Creep to bulge then shred in violent explosions. Through the smoke of the burning Creep and the shrieks of the dying, the Spartans continued firing, making an ideal distraction.

Then he sensed it. The few hundred tanks of various sorts that they had brought with them barreled down the ridgeline, coming to a halt at the bottom and opening up with autocannons and 150mm railgun fire. The tanks primary cannons, varied as they were, targeted the lone Ultralisk first as a good test target. The creature, gaping holes torn in its hide from the first preliminary rounds, attempted to charge the tanks in defense but was gunned down by a second salvo of rounds. Further tanks were blasting the closest buildings in range and farther out, which were firing back by emitting guided spores of sorts at the tanks, and spikes rippling through the ground from unseen structures, striking and shredding the tank's non-existant underside armor plating. The tanks retreated quickly but a dozen didn't make it time, their engines exploding as the spikes hit their fuel lines and ruptured them.

The APCs came in behind them on their elevated ground, and anti-personnel rockets and rapid-fire automated 20mm chainguns began firing at full blast. By this point, the very ground of the hive cluster it seemed had exploded in what appeared to be sleeping burrowed creatures, the entirety of the3 fury of the Swarm channeled at the UNSC positions. It was a wave of flesh and fangs, eager for the Terran's flesh.

Master Chief slammed in a fresh clip of explosive rounds, then ducked as hypersonic razor-sharp spines whistled past his helmet embedding in the dead trees beyond. "Hydralisks! Get into cover!" The Spartans mostly made it, Charles keeling over with a massive bony spine embedded in his helmet visor. Chief dragged his body behind the boulder, then took out his rocket launcher and fired into the dense Zerg formations. Each blast took out a few dozen Zerg at a time, but the Zerg were flooding into the now-empty plain, which had been cleared of the defensive structures by the tanks.

"Foehammer, now's a good time for your move," Chief said calmly as he fired the last of his rocket rounds. They were going to be overwhelmed at this rate, despite their accuracy.

"Roger. Cover your heads, rounds inbound." Chief and the Spartans ducked behind their cover as rockets fired from the sky itself it seemed, the FAE rounds spraying liquid explosive death over the Zerg. Their screams if anything quadrupled in volume, and Chief was forced to drop his acoustic sensor's acuity in defense. Then he heard Foehammer screaming, and he raised his head quickly.

The dropships were coming in, but there were strange bulbous creatures which were firing sprays of brown goo from the ground at the dropships. As Chief watched in horror, the acid spray started eating through the dropship's thick armor plating, and the dropship wobbled in its place. He saw Marines jumping without gear into the Swarm as the dropship fell, swallowed by a sea of ravenous arms and legs as the burning dropship came and unleashed the final fires upon them all. "Spartans, target those creatures!" The remaining rockets streaked out and eliminated them, as well as a considerable number of hydralisks.

There was a temporary clear space, and ROD Pods streaked down, burning the very air underneath them. Those Zerg which might have been still alive were incinerated under the ROD's deceleration thrusters, and the massive pods crashed down, spewing out ODSTs in their thick powered armor covered with shoulder-mounted rockets and 10mm chainguns. They opened fire at point-blank range, causing a hail of fire across the frontal Zerg lines and a wave of corresponding dead flesh in response.

Chief heard a hiss to his left, a faint faint sound. He turned and fired just a large snake-like creature with wings leapt from the trees, unfolding its wings. It spat a large worm-like object at him which tried to latch on, but Chief blew the worm away then fired on the mutalisk. There were great swarms of them in the trees, and Matt began setting the trees on fire with his Defoliant Projector to drive them out. The fire spread, and Chief was astonished as he saw thousands of Mutalisks rise up behind them, accompanied by large floating sacks that must be Overlords. "Target the Overlords!" he shouted, then dived to his left as the mutalisks fired. He fired with his rifle into the nearest overlord as his comrades did the same, their explosive rounds tearing through the skin of the Overlord and making it reel in shock, then explode from the inside. The Mutalisks which were right on top of them reeled in the air, and the Chief and his Spartans took vicious advantage of their confusion.

He kneeled next to Kelly. "The Overlords must be controlling them, spread the word!" Their external comms were being jammed, so she merely nodded at his words then sprinted to the ODSTs, who were also taking advantage of the Zerg lines' reeling. With vicious enthusiasm, Chief and the Spartans continued firing, first focusing on the Zerg line, then occasionally taking out an Overlord when the Zerg seemed to be getting their act together. The death would cause them to reel in confusion again, and cooperating with the ODSTs and the tanks which had been raining fire down all this time, they were thinning out the Zerg hive considerably.

All of a sudden, a large clump of over 200 mutalisks broke free of their disorientation and flew toward the tanks. Hurried rounds flew by, only striking a few causing them to explode in mid-flight, but the rest continued. They never caught the Anti-Aircraft Dresden-class hovertanks which had stayed behind the rest not firing, their rockets swarms catching the mutalisks over 100 meters away and destroying them in totality. Acid rained down on the ground from their passage, and indeed burning disintegrating Creep and dirt filled the plain with a plume of light smoke.

Chief saw the Zerg lines thinning, and swung his arm. "Spartans, advance! Cover the ODSTs!" They joined their heavier-armed brothers on the battlefield, spraying an orgy of destruction into what remained of the Zerg. Thousands of Zerglings continued to charge forward, but the ones not blasted by chaingun fire and explosive rockets went down to flamethrower and rifle, shotgun, and gauntleted fists.

Within the hour, the main Zerg cluster in this area had been eliminated of 99 of its combat forces, and as the Spartans and surviving Marines retreated to rearm and regroup at _Armon_ Base, the Zerg cluster was firebombed, and the entire site was nuked repeatedly by Battlecruisers from orbit. After all, it was the only way to be sure.


	11. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine, Part One

Master Chief slowly opened his eyes. His hands were gripping the exercise bar in an iron grip, and he slowly released his breath. He was on top of the bar, maintaining perfect discipline and poise, his feet pointed upwards in the air like a spear. His body was utterly motionless, his thoughts and pulse virtually as still as the turgid dead. He had his eyes closed, and he could feel the pulse of everybody's hearts in the exercise room. He had been like this for over a half hour, feeling without seeing the movements of the crew through the large chamber, the lifting of weight and the exertion of muscle groups in an attempt to become stronger.

Spartans, as a result of their heritage, needed slightly more than what a Marine or ODST gymnasium could offer them in terms of equipment. Their room was a haphazard arrangement of bars, traps, stun guns in strategic positions, and robotic drones, an anarchic maze which enabled each exercise from being similar. It offered an irresistible challenge to the Marines and crew, and some had tried, and then spectacularly failed. The Spartans had posted large warning signs and the free medical results of those who had tried to go through, but as of yet the foolhardy adventurers would ignore them and proceed anyway.

The count was now up to 45 minutes, perfectly poised as he was, then Chief felt the _Achimella_ shudder. With smooth precision, he swung up and out, grabbing the bars and swinging ot another position. The drones activated, but Chief's sensitivity to things had grown with his meditation, thus he pivoted aside, and allowed a cross-fire to destroy the two drones. More followed, and Chief was a blur in motion, his bodysuit flexing and rippling with only a slight strain on their full potential. Dodging and weaving, flying into the air and pivoting for crushing landings, the Chief ended near the exit door, and left the chamber with only the lightest layer of sweat on him.

Kelly was waiting for him. "We're coming out of Slipspace."

"I know. I felt the vibrations."

"No doubt." Kelly and Chief left, ignoring the gaping stares of those crew and Marines who had just witnessed the rarity of a Spartan exercise routine in its full glory. "They want us to suit up, and meet Admiral Hopkins on Conference Room B."

"Good." They reached their destination, the Spartan Bay where their munitions and armor had been stored for now. Activating the controls, John and Kelly swung onto the frame above their armor as the top half hissed and pulled off. They swung smoothly into their suits, lifting their arms as the upper half then lowered onto them. They began running the standard system checks as their armor-self-sealed and the Protoss-derived shielding system flickered into being around their armored skin. They left for Conference Room B, which was one of two conference rooms right near the Bridge. Admiral Hopkins was waiting for them. "Chief, Kelly."

"Sir." They sharply saluted, and with a smile Hopkins returned it. The Spartans stood while Hopkins pointed to an activated 3D holographic projector of the Milky Way galaxy, UNSC worlds shown in emerald green icons in a small bunch across the middle of one side. "It's been over three weeks since the initial attack at Harvest, and already we have received word of attacks on over 32 colonies on our eastern galactic periphery, facing the Core. So far the orbital defenses on all of the Colonies have held, and reinforcements have successfully repelled their swarms. But," and he scowled, "We might have a problem."

The map of the Galaxy shifted, towards the Core, and zoomed in. "We've launched tentative scouting missions towards the Core over the past 12 years, and only now we've come across a massive Zerg facility, multiple planetary systems close by which seem to be where these swarms are originating from. Our long-range scans have indicated that the Zerg seem to be strip-mining entire planets in these systems for raw minerals and biomass to continue their growth rates. The total accumulations of these creatures in these six systems here," and he pointed to several scarlet icons close to the Core, "are enormous, at least 20 times the approximate total number faced at Harvest."

Chief's mind reeled at such numbers. "What's our purpose, sir?"

"You and Kelly will lead your 15 Spartans down to the central system, in the third planet. It's the most densely populated system of them all, showing Zerg in roughly 50x the number of Zerg at Harvest, plus it has this." A pop-up picture of a passive satellite scan showed a mountain of quivering flesh. "We don't know what that is, but it is generating rhythmic electromagnetic and gravitic emissions at modulations our instruments are finding it hard to decipher. However, ONI has deduced they think that this seems to be some sort of central coordinator amongst the Zerg in this sector, as the Zerg bodies we have successfully dissected don not seem to posses much by way of innate intelligence. So, since this creature is so large but we're going to kill it, we have this."

Admiral Hopkins waved his hand over controls, and a 2D image of an 8ft tall block of metal and wires emerged over the table. "This is the prototype NOVA Bomb, nine fusion warheads encased in a lithium triteride - Neosteel armor. When detonated, it compresses its fusionable material to neutron-star density, boosting the thermonuclear yield a hundredfold and resulting in a blast that can shatter worlds. ONI Section Three wasn't entirely sure if IPBMs could do it against Zerg swarms, so the fact that we have one now is supremely good timing.

Anyway, your team is going to plant this device inside the Cerebrate, which has been determined to have large passageways inside it, it appears for feeding. Once the device is planted, there will be an extraction point selected and broadcasted to you. We're going to provide a hell of a distraction with our task force in orbit, drawing them off of you. You will escape via dropship, and the planet will turn into a solar-system wide fragmentation grenade and eradicate most if not all of the Zerg forces in each system. This kill the creature and disrupt the Zerg communications and control network. Simultaneous missions with the other Spartan teams in the other systems will plant their own NOVA Bombs and cripple their breeding programs roughly simultaneously with your assault. With luck, Zerg coordination in each should be crippled."

"Sir, how're we to get past all of those Zerg to plant the device in the Cerebrate? With such a high density of Zerg, do we have any chances of evading them, sir?"

"A large portion of the Zerg forces seem to be aerial in number, at least in these systems. Our task force, composed of over 16 Titan-class Battlecruisers and 32 of the new Hyperion-class Battlecruisers, will remain on call at the edge of the system until you send a signal confirming the arming of the NOVA bomb. We will do a quick warp jump into orbit and draw their attention, simultaneously sending down flights of Pelicans for retrieval."

"Sounds good, sir. The Spartans faced worse odds at Harvest," Chief said calmly, his true facial expression hidden behind his helmet. It did sound like a better setup than their counterattack of the Zerg hive three weeks ago, but there were always any number of things that could go wrong in such a campaign as this. Chief told himself to relax; his Spartans were the best-trained and equipped human soldiers in all of history. They'd get the job done, regardless of cost.

Chief waited outside of the Pelican before he boarded it, checking out the Spartans under his command. They were all first-gen, the first cloned Spartans ever created, and as such had the most experience and training out of all of the Spartans currently alive. He took a look around and was pleased; his request that they arm light for this mission had been observed, with one exception. Chief had ask Sam and Charles to carry rocket launchers, in case they needed extra firepower in a hurry. But the rest of them had armed light with their standard Gauss rifles, Gauss submachine pistols in their shoulder harness webbing, and their Gauss pistol on their hip. Linda, their best sniper, carried as always a large SSM-2 Sniper Rifle on her back, and her Gauss rifle in her hands and a Gauss pistol on her hip. They were ready.

The Master Chief and Kelly loaded the large NOVA bomb onto the floor-rack of the Pelican Dropship, the large cylinder locking into place on the floor rack's clamps. With a shudder the Spartans took off, and the Dropship roared out of the empty hangar bay into space.

Chapter Nine, Part Two

The Pelican came in quiet, slowly hissing to a stop over the ground and its Spartan cargo spilling out quietly into the night. The large dropship had closed up its doors and had impersonated a falling star, falling close to the Cerebrate but not too close to alarm its Zerg custodians, about 32 kilometers from the creature. As the Spartans organized and Sam and Charles grabbed the large bomb, Chief looked out over the terrain. A jagged landscape, one with deep rifts that the Zerg were punching into the crust to extract all available resources. The closest Zerg hive clusters were a few miles away, the Zerg staying close to home. Most likely the creature was overconfident, or the Zerg equivalent, and had little by way of outer defenses. At least that was the way the dropship's sensors had read.

Master Chief nodded to the Spartans, who stood ready behind him. "Let's go." Slinging his weapons he moved swiftly, his armor fading with its external stealth coating. The Spartans moved in synchronicity, vanishing into the mists.

The planet was barren and very active in volcanic activity. The atmosphere read from his sensors as virtually non-existent, and what existed was a lethal combination of carbon dioxide and neon and argon gases, non-inhabitable in any stretch of the word. And yet the Zerg could live here, an ominous development. Along with massive chasms there were jagged mountains spiking across the landscape, a chaotic mix of terrain that might resemble some mad god's dreams or nightmares. Combined with the nonexistent atmosphere, this planet, unnamed as of yet, was a virtual hell world.

They made good time, the reduced gravity of the planet enabling them to run faster and jump across otherwise impassable holes and canyons in the earth in the Spartan's path. Their cargo was lighter and thus easier to carry, as well, which was a bonus. They crossed 20 kilometers in under one and a half hours, and then they began running into the first indications of Creep. The Zerg were near. They moved slower after that, their steps loud in each of their ears, but virtually silent in the near-vacuum of the world. Every sense was intertwined with their senses, focusing for a shadowy monolith of death that might or might not ever come.

Chief found time to think, as they moved, an occurrence which was all too rare in his profession. The Zerg were something from mankind's ethereal nightmares, shadowy talons and fangs, the Bogeyman under the bed. Chief had heard rumors that parents had begun to threaten children with the Zerglings under the bed after the UNSC had released propaganda posters against the Zerg threat, films of snippets of powered armor's visor recordings that ironically some of the Spartans had recorded on Harvest. Even John felt himself shaking, sometimes, when he was not focused on the next assignment and had some "free time" to himself. Then, he would occasionally find himself twitching, the closest that a restrained, controlled Spartan could ever come to a human crying or panicking. The closest equivalent he had to nightmares were those memories of himself fighting the Zerg, and for a Spartan to feel such fear…was unusual.

Then, his ears twitched. Something was wrong. He waved his hands, stopping his Spartans mid-stride. "Something's wrong." They were in the process of running through an erratic cluster of boulders, and their vision was limited. He slowly crept forward, peeking around every rock, every nook and cranny he could perceive.

Kelly slowly crawled up to his position, if anything quieter than he was. She inquired with her hands, with the hands signals that Spartans had grown so familiar with, "What's wrong?" He shook his head, then motioned, "2 o'clock, high. Get Linda." Kelly complied, and a moment later Chief heard the muffled crack of a silenced sniper rifle and the silent fall of an Overlord's ruptured body. "Good," he waved, and they continued.

The Creep solidified and thickened underneath them, until they were finally on the outskirts of the Zerg colony. They were still in the field of rocks, and Chief motioned silently for the Spartans to hop from rock to rock, to evade Zerg patrols. The Zerg couldn't possibly smell, what with nothing to smell, and Chief was determined to leave them blind and deaf to their presence as well. His tactics worked; they successfully evaded a number of what appeared for all the world to be Hydralisk patrols, their heads bobbing underneath them and their tails slithering. Chief breathed slightly easier when they passed, then froze as a further rush of Xenomorphs followed. Xenomorphs had somehow sensed his presence previously, and the Spartans froze splayed on top of the rocks, their stealth coatings mimicking the rock outface as close as it could.

Then, after several minutes of suspicious sniffing, the Xenomorphs departed, and the Spartans breathed easier collectively. They had watched the recordings of John's encounter with the aliens, and had become thoroughly aware of their capabilities face to face. They continued, until the rock face ended. Beyond lay the immense mound of the Cerebrate, a sight the Spartans had been forced to view as they moved. It had grown until it was a pulsating mound of flesh the size of a hilltop or a distant rise, one that isn't immediately obvious until one is virtually on top of it.

That was where they climbed down, searching for any entrance into the organic structure. The Spartans split into two groups, each searching for a way in; their4 mission was dependant on this. There was no guarantee, however ridiculous it may seem, that the creature would survive the blast if it was on the outside.

_Deep inside John a small voice laughed, laughed and laughed again. It wasn't a sane voice, it wasn't even a human voice, but it was there nonetheless._

The Master Chief jerked to a halt, surprising Charles who was behind him. "Chief, you okay?" he signed, and Chief nodded curtly. They continued, and something inside John began feeling wrong. Something was WRONG. "Turn on headlights," he spoke, deliberately breaking radio silence.

The Spartans did so, and were faced with a wall of hissing creatures in the mouth of the tunnel, in front and in back.

Admiral Hopkins sat on the bridge of the _Achimella_, his scowl growing by the minute. The time for Spartans to have reported in was way past, over an hour at this point, and the Spartans were if anything punctual when it came to courtesy calls home. "Time," he snarled.

"0300 hours, sir. No change."

"Damn." He sighed, the worry deflating out of him. "Well that's it. Get ready to jump on my mark—"

"Sir, we're picking up a signal."

"WHAT? Where; triangulate! And give me what you got."

The signal came broken, garbled. "Sierra…17…broken—Zerg swa-request jump, NOVA deployed. Repeat, NOVA deployed," Chief's voice came through garbled and slurred, but recognizable.

"Fantastic! Inform the other ships that we jump immediately. Prepare the dropships, arm all nukes, and prepare for departure."

Captain Evans walked over. "Sir, 117, he sounded—"

"He's fine Captain. When have you ever heard of a Spartan failing in his mission? When we provide our distraction, the Spartans will come back onboard, and we'll get the hell out of here. Your ship will be fine."

Evans withdrew. "Yes sir."

The _Achimella_ and her sister ships flashed into orbit, and their weapons full upon the Zerg hordes at point-blank range. Nuclear missiles that had been hastily strapped to the hull were fired in all directions, clearly a path with the fire of their death to provide a bit of breathing room. The Zerg swarms balked initially, then recovered turning full force upon the small alone ships. Point defense railguns and laser turrets fired at every direction, and where they smote they killed.

The hangar bays of the _Achimella_ were full of frenzied activity, dropships preparing to descend. Such preparations finished, then they launched. The signal was erratic on the surface, and moving fast towards the east, away from the Zerg that were chasing behind. The dropship pilot, codenamed Damocles, chuckled. The Spartans were luring them out for a reception, the clever bastards. The erratic movements was to get the Zerg confused.

The dropships departed in the hectic chaos, barreling through the atmosphere at insane speed. As they descended under 2000 feet rocket pods prepped and 30mm autocannons emerged from the dropship's underside, and Damocles flew full-bore towards the signal, which was now strong and close. He saw a shimmer on his sensors, and whooped. "We've got them!" he crowed, as he swooped forward of the shimmer and opened fire over its head towards the Zerg. In a flash the dropship's rockets fired en masse, emptying themselves out destroying the front lines. The shimmer leapt on board, and Damocles turned his head towards the back, only to see to his incredulity only…one shimmer. Then the shimmer dropped, and Damocles' jaw dropped. It was the Chief, but he was alone, and his armor…was shredded confetti. There was no way he could be—

"Go," Chief whispered in the pressurizing bay, then collapsed.


	12. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten, Part One

The man paused in his white gown as he stood by the bed. He had been about to walk out, when his charge, his massive girth lying prone and limp on the bed as if dead, suddenly gasped, his eyes rolling back again. The man, a doctor, a healer of the sick and wounded, looked at the instrument details on the wall, but no alarms sounded. It had just been an anomaly.

The doctor, sighed, then left the room. The entire orbital hospital, in orbit of Earth, was nearly sick with worry themselves. Their three guests, three Spartans of all things, had been rushed in as soon as the task force had come back from its duties. Only Chief, Linda, and Ray had survived the slaughter of the entire first-gen Spartan Corps, 90 personnel in total. With the 300 second-generation clones two years from graduation, suddenly Spartans had become a near-priceless commodity overnight, and even then it had seemed in the first few hours that they would lose the few they still had.

It was unknown how the Master Chief had survived. His suit had been breached with massive claw rips and holes from Hydralisks spines in so many places it no longer functioned as even the most minimal of clothing, the shields offline and the suits gone. Chief had been operating in near-vacuum for over at least 10 minutes, as he had activated the NOVA bomb and evaded the Zerg for many miles on foot simultaneously. It was impossible, but somehow he had survived. Whatever his fate, this would become a medical miracle.

The doctor left the white room, exited the airlock, and approached Admiral Hopkins. The large man had been sitting outside the Chief's room for over 30 hours now, shirking his duties. The Admiral looked like he had also stayed awake the entire time, the doctor thought as he approached. Then again, nobody in the hospital right now who knew of the situation was currently as they say "with it." "Sir," the doctor whispered.

Admiral Hopkins twitched, his closed eyes snapping open in near-panic. "Wha—ah, Doctor." He sipped slowly from the stale cup of coffee he'd been holding. "What's the latest?"

"He's still in a coma. The Chief's wounds are healing at an incredible rate, sir. We've never seen anything like it. I'm forwarding all of the medical data to ONI as was requested earlier, but I wish that I could analyze myself—"

Hopkins stood, waving his arm. "Maybe later, doctor, I'll keep your name in mind. Give me the specifics."

The doctor gulped. "Well, I know of Spartan physiology only what ONI sent me, but this is beyond what his body should be capable of. Aside from his exposure to vacuum, his chest was lacerated and riddled with holes from spines and teeth, which in vacuum caused horrendous damage to his internal systems. Also, since he's part human he was effected a tiny bit by the Zerg acid blasts it seems, but that damage healed up really fast the second we got him stabilized and in a high-oxygen environment." He paused. "It's those holes and slashed areas that concern me, sir. He shouldn't be alive!"

Hopkins smirked. "Spartans are tougher than they appear. I wouldn't be too surprised if he held on through pure willpower."

"That's—" The alarm rang behind him, and the doctor looked through the window. "Oh my god, he's awake! Nurse!" He ran inside, and Hopkins followed him. The doctor shot him a death glare, but allowed it for now. The two moved to the foot of the bed, where a heavily-bandaged figure was slowly, very slowly, taking off some of his bandages. "Chief, do you recognize my voice?" the doctor said slowly. He didn't want to startle a superhuman killing machine, especially one that just jerked out of a coma.

A raspy voice whispered, "Yes." The Chief's bandaged face turned towards the place where the voice had originated from. "Where am I?"

"Earth, son, in one of our best hospitals," Hopkins said cheerfully. The Spartan's head snapped towards him. "You left us worried for a minute there, son. You should be dead."

"Yes." The figure restarted taking off the bandages on his arms, prompting the doctor to say, "Chief, why are you taking them off?"

"They're healed."

The doctor moved swiftly to assist him, and motioned to the nurses to help as well. They finished, and the doctor gaped. "That's…that's… impossible, sir."

"That's my job," John-117 said cheerfully, but weakly. He could sense his arm was healed, if anything feeling more attuned to his body than before. He sighed, underneath his facial bandages; his missing eye irritated him, the socket tingling. "Admiral, how many did I lose? The other teams got ambushed as well."

Hopkins nodded, a lump in his throat. "Aside from you, Linda, and Ray…nobody made it."

It was as the Chief suspected. Sharp crisp memories were returning slowly to him, the last events of his mission. The ambush, a sea of fangs and lunging claws, and…"laughter," he muttered.

"What was that Chief?"

"I think I know how the Zerg…communicate, Admiral," Chief stumbled, as his mind caught up slowly to his memories, and their implications.

"Well shit. Our best scientists haven't been capable of doing that. How do they communicate, then?" Hopkins said this sarcastically; he very much doubted a Spartan, let alone a Spartan who'd just come from a coma, could do what legions of scientists had been toiling at for months to figure out. Spartans were clever and smart, but not THAT smart.

"Telepathy."

Hopkins' cheek twitched, then he giggled. He calmed down quickly. "You do realize, son, just how ludicrous that sounds?"

"I can prove it," the Spartan said with an iron voice.

"How?"

"Come closer, Admiral." Hopkins slowly approached, then the Spartan's hand lashed out and pulled him closer. Hopkins' mind was vaguely alarmed at the sudden movement, but not afraid for some reason. Then, his eyes focused on the Chief's other hand, which was…bleeding? Then the Chief punched him in the solar plexus, just hard enough for his mouth to open in pain, then the Chief stuck his bloody finger inside before anybody could do anything about it, smearing the blood with one quick flick on his tongue.

He staggered back, snarled, "What the hell are you do—", then gargled as images began flashing through his mind, images of Zerg, blood, and laughter. A background voice, a voice speaking too all so close to it, and… "You're part Zerg," the Admiral gasped in realization as the images continued. He slowly sat on the floor, allowing the images to pass. "That's why the…cerebrate…was speaking to you. It misled you, hiding forces from plain sight as well as hiding them for real. And then they leaped at the right time…" His face stared off.

"Exactly, Admiral." John's voice was full of steel conviction, the myriad events relating to the Zerg coalescing into sudden knowledge. "We have part Xenomorph DNA, and the DNA had been previously partially infested by the Zerg before. We could hear, though dimly, the Cerebrate's calls. It was deep, and dark and cold, in that creature's mind," the Chief trailed off, thinking.

Hopkins rose steadily on his feet. "How did you…?" He motioned to Chief's finger, still red.

"I can control my blood pressure, and simply forced it to exert a biochemical solution which would carry my memories into you. Since you don't have partial DNA to read the telepathic signal directly, I had to improvise and transmit it through the blood."

Hopkins paled, but retained his senses. Spartans…didn't do this. How did Chief know to do this? "Can you do that again, create this "solution" of yours?"

"Yes, on command." Chief's voice softened. "Admiral, due to my temporary direct contact with the Cerebrate, I read its intentions, and its memories. We don't have a lot of time available."

"Before what?"

Chief continued. "It was a two-way link, for the shortest span of time, possible only because we were inside it. The Cerebrate had been "screaming", sort of, at us all the way there, but due to our diluted Zerg DNA we simply couldn't hear it too well. That changed when we entered it physically; our close proximity rendered us susceptible to a direct two-way psionic link."

"Two way…"

"Yes. The Cerebrate read my thoughts and knowledge as well, and I would not be surprised if in a few weeks we were directly assaulted here, a direct stab at the home world of Mankind. The Zerg now know where we are, the UNSC, and they will come. We must prepare for their arrival, they are coming. I can feel it."

Chapter Ten, Part Two

The last of the Joint Chiefs filed into the briefing room, the mood was somber. News of the Chief's information had immediately been sent by Hopkins to every senior member of the UNSC Battle Fleet and their relevant constituents. Three hours after Chief's declaration, they were here, ready to listen to what the Spartan had to say.

They slowly settled in, and then the Chief was wheeled into the room in a wheelchair pushed by a medical attendant, its hoverpods making a soft whooshing sound as the chair was moved along the carpeted floor. Placed behind the podium, the Chief smiled at the attendant, who smiled at him and backed off of the stage but nearby in case he needed anything. The Chief's one good eye (the other covered in an eye patch to cover the empty socket) turned to the Joint Chiefs. His heavily-scarred face wrinkled in smiles. "It's good to see you sirs. Sorry if I don't stand." There was no laughter. Chief looked down for a second; the information was in his head, and he hadn't needed any notes. He looked up again; this wasn't something he normally did. "I assume you have Admiral Hopkin's original report." The Chiefs rumbled in assent.

"Good." The Chief leaned forward, looking as aggressive as a man in his position could look. "I'm going to tell you of the history of the Zerg, and why the Cerebrate that we thought we had killed is not in actual fact dead." Rumble rumble.

The Chief leaned back in his chair. "The Zerg were created by a race long ago, an ancient race that was, at least according to the Cerebrate, seeking "perfection," or the perfect life form. There had been previous attempts, but the Zerg were their master's last attempts.

"In a way, they succeeded. The central intelligence of the entirety of the Zerg was and is a creature that the Cerebrate called the "Overmind." Cerebrates are the equivalent of battlefield commanders, Overlords and Queens their equivalent of sub-lieutenants and lieutenants in the field tactically. The Zerg do not possess much by way of innate intelligence or sentience, and are controlled telepathically by the Cerebrates and the Overmind as a whole. I know the concept of telepathy has no established precedent, but it does explain how the Zerg communicate without using any known medium that we have been aware of.

"And this control by the Overmind presents another problem, a far bigger one. A Cerebrate cannot truly be killed, in the traditional sense, due to this telepathy. A Cerebrate is in continuous contact with the Overmind, and is always updating what you call a "backup" file of its "soul" with the Overmind. When we detonated the NOVA Bomb, yes it did destroy and atomize the Cerebrate's current body, but the Overmind is in the process of growing a new body, and will then implant the Cerebrate's last recorded consciousness into it. It will be sent back here.

"The Zerg originate from the other side of the Galactic Core away from us. They travel throughout the Galaxy using wormholes, which are generated using their psionic energy by mostly Cerebrates or in a pinch by large enough aggregations of Overlords. Massive amounts of psionic energy are required per portal created, and they can only be held open for a short period of time, about a half hour, until the Cerebrate gets tired and drained. These portals are very large; in this time multiple Swarms can be sent through.

"Distance is a problem though; the Zerg use Slower-Than-Light bio-probes to seed across the galaxy, targeting the nearest stars for signs of life and resources to assimilate and consume. When a bio-probe finds such a source, it sends a word back to the controlling Cerebrate, as psionic communications is not inherently dependent on distance. The coordinates sent by the bio-probe give the Cerebrate a location with which to place their portal, and for Swarms to move around in.

"Zerg are controlled 24-7 by the Cerebrate and the Overlords. Virtually every physical muscle twitch and sound they make is controlled down to the tendon by the Cerebrate. These Cerebrates possess a complexity of thought and mind millions of time larger than our own, but almost all of it is continuously taken with moving and keeping an eye on the Zerg forces that the Cerebrate already controls. As such, Zerg growth is slow, a Cerebrate needing to grow additional connections within itself in order to control them.

"When a Cerebrate is killed, however, the Zerg revert to an animalistic state due to lack of control. This was seen by Admiral Hopkins as their ships attacked Zerg forces after the NOVA blast. The few Zerg who survived what was the equivalent of a planet-sized frag grenade covering the entire solar system attacked without any form of coordination, and were easily killed. Since then, our forces scouting out Zerg-infested territory have been making fantastic munitions-to-kill ratios. This will not last, as the Cerebrate should be arriving within about three weeks by wormhole back to our sector of the galaxy. When it does," Chief finished, "It will take control of the Zerg that are left, and launch a full-scale assault on Earth and this solar system, with all of the creatures in the Brood at its command."

Chief slowly pushed himself away from the podium. "That is all. I have appointments with the doctors, who wish to take samples of my bio-memory goo, if that's all right, sirs."

Admiral Hopkins, who was sitting close by, said, "Go son. Thank you for your testimony. This information is invaluable." The Spartan nodded and, pushed by the attendant again, left the room. Hopkins turned to the table of the UNSC's top generals and minds. "So, gentlemen, it seems we have a problem. What do we do about it?"

Chapter Ten, Part Three

Fleet Admiral Danhurst had been sitting quietly in a corner observing the Spartan's testimony. His large frame until now had been hidden in shadow, but then he stood up. "We actually have several issues of the moment, Admiral Hopkins, and not all of them are about the Zerg." He waved towards the exit. "One of our prime problems is whether we can trust the Spartans, our primary elite tactical units, any more."

The room burst into hubbub over this. Danhurst waited until they had slightly calmed down, and then continued. "I shall lay out my thoughts on the matter before you for you all to judge. We've invested a lot of time, effort, and research into the SPARTAN program. We felt at the time that our efforts would be worthwhile, that we needed what is in fact a super-soldier program in order to throw against the Zerg, that they're advantages would prove to surmount this unknown threat." Danhurst's pace around the oval table slowly stopped, his hands behind his back. "And this is what they prove against the Zerg? That our own artificially-engineered creations are in fact more susceptible to the Zerg because of our very actions!"

"With all due respect sir," Hopkins slowed spoke, "The SPARTAN program is still perfectly viable. This one tactical…vulnerability…can only happen within one very tightly-constrained set of circumstances, and this we can control. We can simply make sure that SPARTANS don't get within reach of a Cerebrate."

"Therein lies our critical problem, Hopkins, one that I doubt the majority of the people here have considered." He slowly waved his hand, then proceeded walking again. "Consider this: we know nothing about psionics. There is no indication of psionics within native UNSC human populations, there is no documented evidence or scripture on how psionics works, and frankly…this is entirely undiscovered country, ladies and gentlemen, and really the only light in the dark that we have is from the one survivor of a group that has proven susceptible to the very same phenomenon we're talking about? This is ridiculous. In short," and he paused, hammering his knuckles on the table for extra effect, "The Master Chief's testimony is biased, and in fact if this "psionic" activity that took place indeed took place, there is nothing to day that the Cerebrate didn't corrupt or mis-feed him data, or that it might do so again."

Hopkins stood up. "And you would propose what, that we ignore his testimony as "corrupted data?" Frankly we still have a problem about the Zerg, whether Chief's psionic visions are correct, or whether he saw correctly, or even if he didn't. Think of this way: we can't afford to NOT prepare for a Zerg invasion, can we?" He moved towards Danhurst, the large figure frozen and watching him as he moved. Hopkins continued. "The Chief's vision or communication could be true, in which case when the Zerg attack we're better prepared to fend them off, possibly bait a trap, possibly win a large overwhelming victory. Even if Chief's wrong and the invasion never comes, we've still boosted Earth's defense grid, which as been an issue of concern with Captain Lewis, Foster and Mackenzie, as well as Admiral Harper and myself."

Danhurst smiled. "Valid points Admiral. Have you considered, though that our fleets are spread out through known space to put down Zerg brushfires, that our forces cannot possibly be pulled back for a defensive operation of this magnitude, so deep in the Inner Colonies? We'd strip the Outer Colonies bare, and they would be left vulnerable with their static defensive assets. Harvest shows what happens if you are depending on only static defenses and orbital entrenchment: the Zerg have overwhelming numbers, enough to get a force through regardless of casualties."

"Point, sir," Hopkins raised his hand. "Harvest only had a triad of ODCs and two PDCs for support against the attack. Most of our Outer Colonies by now have much more by way of ODCs, and we've been enacting programs to boost the PDC's effectiveness in the attrition rate. I'm confident that the Outer Colonies can hold long enough , if this testimony proves to be false data, in order to buy enough time for our ships to get back."

"At the cost of shredded orbital defenses, defenses which aren't exactly cheap," Danhurst shot back. "We can't just afford to abandon the Outer Colonies, even for a few weeks or a week! It would slow our efforts tremendously if we had to replace the Outer Colonies' defense network wholesale, which we would if we did this."

"Gentlemen," a deep voice rumbled. Admiral Harper stood up, and the two Admirals, who were now standing virtually eye to eye, turned as one to face the large Nubian Admiral. "I may have an idea which is a good compromise between your two views. May I speak?" They both nodded. "Very well. Take our mobile forces, arrange them in packets across the "Middle" colonies between Earth and say Harvest, and assign them in such a way that the closer a system is to Earth, the more ships there are per packet. If there is an attack on Earth, there will a very large number of ships that are only 30 seconds warp jump away. On the other hand, if the Outer Colonies are attacked and Chief's information was false information, we can still deploy a number of ships to the hot spots, and the larger number of ships that are farther away will get there in time to act as a hammer against those Zerg that are left."

Hopkins and Danhurst blinked, then separated. Danhurst spoke first. "That's…a very sensible plan, Admiral, and indeed, that would solve many of my complaints about the Chief's testimony. I agree."

"Same." Hopkins looked out over the assemblage. "A vote." Everybody unanimously agreed. "Very well, then. Continuing, I have a proposal about our ships in this plan…"

Chief looked out the med-bay's windows, watching the world spin beneath him. The encounter with the Cerebrate had left him changed, in many ways, and Chief was slightly afraid as to what he was capable of. He had always known what he was, a Spartan, born and bred, trained to fight, lived to kill. He had had enough in the existence of his fellow Spartans, the knowledge of fellow blood-brothers and sisters being by his side a balm on any vague remnants of conscience, the vague chunks of humanity that floated around occasionally in his soul.

And now his brothers and sisters were all dead.

He was so focused on the pinwheel of night that he had not heard Linda slowly approaching his hoverchair from behind. Chief twitched, then relaxed as he recognized her smell. Linda walked to his side, leaning on the metal railing looking at him. "Thoughts?"

Linda was one of the most beautiful Spartans, and that was most evident now. Her red hair glowed in the light from background stars, her face beautiful with concern. "How did you survive?" Chief whispered.

"I killed them, those who were chasing me. A dropship found me before the NOVA went off, traced my beacon."

"You all right?"

"Fine, enough." Linda shrugged. "More concerned about you. You look terrible."

Chief smiled. "I'll live. Most of it is trivial damage."

"Your eye…?"

"They're working on possibly flash-cloning an eye for me, but I'm fine without it." Linda pointed at his blanket-covered legs, the unspoken question obvious. "That…they're not sure. There's nerve damage, not severe but enough. They're working on treatments, but they're modifying my new suit to move my legs via my neural lace until then."

"How're the new suits? I haven't heard much?"

"They're great," Chief smiled. "They brought up the Beta model to me before the briefing in its coffin. It has over twice the shield strength of the previous models, and has a recharge ability three times as fast. The armor's thicker too. They haven't finished it yet, but I put in…some recommendations for mods to them."

"Based on the last mission?" Linda asked.

"Yes." Chief grimaced. "There's a number of things wrong with that, and the first problem is us." Linda's mouth opened, but Chief continued. "We're tactically vulnerable, due to our weakness to the Cerebrate. I made recommendations to install a tactical AI into the next suits, with the proviso that they can take over the suit when clear and present danger is coming and we're unaware of it. That should get around any tricks the Cerebrate might play. I also made some recommendations to install suit-mounted weapons on the arms and shoulders for extra redundancy, so this doesn't happen again."

"Chief…it wasn't your fault, you know," and Linda sidled over and put her hand on the Chief's bare shoulder.

He squeezed her hand gratefully. "I know that, but…it's just so infuriating that such a weakness is in our blood and we can do nothing about it."

Linda smiled. "We are who we are, Spartan."

"You're telling me."

The two survivors embraced in the dark, alone but for the few that remained.


	13. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven, Part One

Three weeks later

New Mombasa Spaceport, Africa

John looked out from his MJOLINOR suit, the servos the only thing keeping his rigid frame from falling. His legs still didn't work, but at the very least he had regained enough mobility for this last operation.

He had heard of Admiral Harper's plan, and thought it made sense from his limited knowledge of the strategic data available. The key here would be destroying the Zerg swarm via attrition so that when they reach the outer defense nets they can be repulsed. Luckily the Sol System was the most heavily fortified system in the entire UNSC, barring Reach itself. It possessed multiple defense nets, composed of ODCs orbiting the gas giants, near-continuous fighter CAPs, and swarms of hunter-killer satellites which were essentially disposable missile drones. In the Inner System there was the Core Fleet composed of over 300 capital ships, the Inner ODCs and PDCs, and the Babylon Stations in Earth's orbit around the sun. Mars, Luna, and Earth herself were all heavily-armed, with the highest amount of PDCs located on any world in the UNSC between the three of them.

The key to victory was in the mobile Core Fleet, as well as the other Fleets which would serve as tactical reinforcements in trouble areas. The BCs and Battleships of Core Fleet had had all of their nuclear munitions bolted to the hull for quick firing, as the last operation had proved the success of that tactic. In addition, along with the IPBM silos that were located on Triton which could cover over ¾ of the Outer System's volume there were many large nuclear mines being seeded across those areas that were viewed as "likely" emergence points for Zerg swarms. Essentially they were nuclear warheads with a small booster and a sensor package on it, but its limited mobility should suffice to eliminate any large clusters of Zerg in the area.

Chief had been thoroughly questioned and de-briefed, and his report to the Cabinet had been the final one. Since then, himself, Linda and Ray had been going over the technical schematics for the next-gen MJOLINOR suits, mulling over their memories and recommending improvements. Word had already spread a little of the disaster despite the ONI clamp down, so the techs who were building the suit knew what they were preparing for and rushed with all due haste. They had produced several of the new suits and three were in fact for their use, but Chief used his old suit for now, to move around and such.

Unlike his current armored suit, the next-gen designs were entirely different. The new Gamma models, based from Chief's advice and Linda's as well, had over three times the strength of previous shield systems, but the regeneration capabilities had not been worked on as extensively due to time constraints. The armor was thicker now, over 5cm thick, and at Chief's inspection the suits resembled nothing so much as a walking tank. The arms and their nanotube "muscles" were larger as well, to carry the new weapons systems that Chief had proposed, and boosted the wearer's strength and speed even more.

As for the suit-mounted weapons, a wide variety of sub-munitions had been developed for such a purpose. Chief had recommended energy weapons that could be powered from the suit's internal fusion reactor and power cells, and as such there were laser and particle beam weapons mounts which could be set to Gatling-style strobe pulse mode or a continuous beam. A variety of plasma cannons had been jury-rigged and improved, and was mounted on the suit's shoulders. They could fire either focused beams of plasma, unfocused beams like a super-flamethrower, or a "blob" of plasma which was fired and kept together for about 50 meters, a close-range attack but one that caused massive peripheral damage. Last there was Chief's favorite, a large flechette cannon which fed off an ammo pack clamped onto the back of the suit.

Chief paused, then retreated. He left the open hangar bay out into the sunlight, feeling the tingle in the back of his mind as his altered neural interface enabled him to walk. He slowly shook his hands, clenched them, then lifted his legs one at a time, feeling the tingle increase. The part of his mind that he allowed to dwell on non-important matters was currently gnashing its metaphorical teeth on how he hated his current position in life. A Spartan fights, and does not stay back from fighting.

"Nervous?" Chief turned his head, and saw Linda walking towards him in one of the new suits, her helmet off and her eyes on him.

"Annoyed," Chief sighed, then took off his helmet. "How's the suit?"

"Beautiful, Chief. Moves like air on the skin, and much quicker in response time."

John smirked. Like response time mattered, with their reflexes. "Good for you, Lindie. Any word from the Admiral on what we're going to be doing after this?"

"He wants us to hitch a ride with the 57th Airborne up to the Magna Carta orbital station, and then catch a shuttle to his flagship the Norad II. Something about advice about the Zerg, but he wants you to get in the newer suit and relinquish that one finally."

"Yes ma'am." If a General asks you to do something, then you do it. He walked back into the hangar bay and hooked his suit up to its chamber. With his helmet off the chest piece broke seal and hissed upward, Chief grabbing upper steel rails to lift himself out of it. The legs vanished, and he silently held his position while the technicians wheeled the components of his Gamma suit to him. The legs slotted underneath him, thicker and meatier-looking somehow, and he lowered his legs into them. The upper chest part wrapped around him and sealed, and then his helmet descended on cables, Chief grabbing it and putting it on manually. He looked to Linda, who had also sealed her helmet. "Looking good?"

"Just dandy, John."

"Oh thanks." He took a tentative step off of the platform, his interface tingling again, then another, then another. He broke into a slow jog, then slowed. In the helmet he smiled. "We're good." Linda walked him to a nearby Warthog, and they drove to the spaceport about half a kilometer down from the hangar bay, where about a dozen Pelicans and Ares-class dropships were loading up with their troops. Chief and Linda disembarked, then found the commanding officer. "Spartan-117 and Spartan-058 reporting to hitch a ride, sir."

"At ease, Chief." Colonel Maybourne smiled and lowered his gauntleted arm in a return salute. Chief relaxed, crossing his arms behind him at rest pose. "I received the memo about 20 minutes ago of your arrival. Welcome onboard. Got any weapons or gear?" The two shook their heads. "OK, then get a seat and sit tight."

The two Spartans clambered onboard, sitting down in their full armor in seats close to the exit hatch. Around them were the fully-armored troops of the 57th Airborne, fully suited up in their armor as per regulation. They were suited, and hence showed no expression on their hidden faces, but kept their Gauss rifles propped in between their legs, prepared as any good trooper would be. Their armor was less ornate and bulkier than the two Spartans, but was still very respectable in its capabilities, and John imagined that soon anyway that their newer armor would come into production anyway. Above their heads lay crammed duffel bags and crates full of their weapons and ammo, ready for a quick release in case of sudden need. John looked to Linda and she to him, and made the motion with their fingers of a shrug.

John looked outward afterwards, and saw a full view of the spaceport that he had ignored until now. The setting sun was lowering behind the building and runway pads, and they were swarming with activity, much more than John had anticipated. He turned to Linda and thumbed with his tongue a private frequency. "You know what's going on? Looks like everybody's loading up, not just the 57th." Linda shook her head in denial.

Colonel Maybourne hopped on, the last of his men and equipment finally loaded. Sitting in the last seat next to the two Spartans, the hatch began to close as he tapped John's shoulder and thumbed a frequency. "Spartan-117 and -058, the Zerg have arrived. Everybody's being mobilized, and I recommend you two get ready to kick some Zerg ass when we get up there."

The two Spartans, and John paled underneath his armor slightly. With himself like this he didn't trust his ability to move and coordinate like he otherwise should. Linda moved her gauntleted hand to cover his, and he smiled, then squeezed in return grateful for the distraction. No matter what, Linda would keep his back. That would not change.

Chapter Eleven, Part Two

UNSC Norad II, CIC

Dylarian Shipyards, Mars

Admiral Hopkins was pouring over the incoming data as orderly chaos poured across CIC. Multiple Zerg swarms had been sighted across the Oort ecliptic, and the CAPs and forces in that area were being prepared for quick interception. So far though, the Zerg weren't moving, just sitting there. Hopkins had concluded when he saw that that they were gathering reinforcements, as the Cerebrate must surely not be a total idiot. It was going to come down on the Sol System like a sledgehammer on a banana.

He looked up from his reports and snarled, "Ship status, Captain!"

"Crew have almost finished loading, sir. EVA crews have filled all external missile tubes with nukes as ordered, and the last touched to the defense net have been made."

"Fantastic. Prepare to cast off from station moors in 10 minutes. Whoever's not onboard we'll have to do without; we have to get out now! What's the status of the other ships in Core Fleet, Comm?"

"Um, 64 of Core ships are rendezvousing at Point Alpha as ordered, sir. The rest haven't yet departed from their moors themselves, sir."

Hopkins sighed. His frenetic worrying wouldn't accelerate the pace of Core Fleet any worse than it had already, time being required. "Thank you. Has word been sent to Admirals Harper and Sankowski?"

"Yes sir. Alpha and Beta Fleets are converging from Centaurus and Eridani systems at max FTL, sir, ETA twelve minutes. Word's being spread to the others as we speak, sir."

"Good, Pincer is working then."

His thoughts were disturbed as the shrill squawk of an emergency comm initiation pierced the Bridge. "Sir! Lunar ODCs report three Zerg Swarms emerging in orbit around Earth! They're right on top of them!"

Hopkin's eyes blazed in stone-cold fury. The Zerg would not pass, would not desecrate man's beloved homeland, not if he had anything to say about it. "Captain, we leave in five minutes. GET US MOVING!"

Luna

Zerg screamed from the abyssal pit in space and time, flooding the stars and the sun with their numbers. They turned as one towards Luna first, its ODCs and massive orbital and ground-based cannons an ample target.

The Magna Carta, Jericho, and Masada stations opened fire first, their MAC guns modified to fire a shell that exploded mid-flight, providing massive shrapnel across wide space. The thousands of railguns across each station opened fire as one, providing further shrapnel in the sky. The Zerg died in their countless thousands, kinetic rounds rupturing massive Behemoth transports, little more than swollen sacs full of Zerg warriors, and the Overlords, Mutalisks, and Scourges that flew in uncountable numbers and provided escort. Acid spilled across space, skin torn and fangs ripped from screaming mouths.

On the Jericho command station, Commander Ahab looked on with grim dread. "Activate the Phalanx defense grid. Shore up defense sectors 30 through 46, I don't want anything to get through!"

"Yes sir. Zerg forces breaching outer defense grid." Hundreds of smaller laser cannons opened up on rapid-fire mode into the swarm, further enhancing the station's wall of fire.

"They're going to break through," Ahab muttered. They couldn't launch their nukes at such close range, they'd blow up their own ships. "Prep all Archer antiship missiles and set them for proximity mode. They're not meant for this kind of work, but they'll have to do."

"Aye sir." Tens of thousands of missiles fired off into space, their powerful explosive warheads designed for anti-starship work more appropriately, but good enough for a last-ditch weapon. The missile flew into the still-open wormholes, killing many Zerg before their stunned senses could even emerge.

But, Ahab noticed, even that wasn't enough. "Is the generator charged yet?" he asked with a slight snarl in his voice.

"Aye sir. Full charge in seven seconds."

"Good. Fire it the SECOND it's full!"

"Yes sir."

Seven seconds later, the hull of the Jericho, and those of her two sister stations, glimmered, shimmered, and if in an atmosphere would have crackled with immense energies. A Defensive Matrix generator, it took immense amounts of energy to fire even once, and most likely they wouldn't have the time to fire it off a second time. Hence the Zerg who landed on the sheer metal expanse of the station's hull claws extended soon twitched and writhed in agony, their fluids boiling off as they clawed at a massive electro-magnetic force field over the station. The more Zerg landed, the more they died, but soon their swelling carcasses replete with expanding bodily fluids began cracking open, and acid began fountaining onto the bare metal and into the void. The hull arched with further energy and after tens of thousands of Zerg had landed on it had burned out, and the acid burned and sizzled its way through, the thick metal plates corroding and burning into vapor.

On CIC, Ahab read the readouts in silence. "They're burning through. Tactical, get security teams on those hot spots now! Send everybody you've got!"

Chief felt the dropship shudder. "Pilot, what was that?" he heard Maybourne shout.

"Zerg everywhere sir, they came out by Luna! I'm attempting evasive maneuvers!"

"Good! Get us to the Magna Carta as fast as you can!"

"Yes sir!"

Maybourne turned to Chief and Linda. "Looks like the reception's going to be hot Spartans. Here, take these," and he grabbed two Gauss rifles off the rack above their heads. John and Linda nodded, Linda checking the weapon thoroughly and John the same. In addition John reached up and grabbed a pair of Gauss SMGs that hung from a rack nearby, attaching them each to the magnetic pads on the ides of his hips.

Linda motioned to him. "Check your right." He did, and felt a slight bulge which when he poked it opened up and out popped a cylinder. He held it in his hand and flicked it, a black rod projecting out from it, flat and with an edge. He pressed a shallow pad on the side, and felt the blade vibrate. Linda smiled. "They took your advice on Zerg, sir. Force field generator inside, blocks acid and reinforces the blade. Portable, and slices Zerglings up like nothing else."

"Good to know." He flicked the blade back into its holding position, and put it back. "Colonel, mind if we join your men until we get this situation resolved?"

"By all means, my men would love to work with a Spartans or two. Might teach them a thing or two," then Maybourne's grin vanished replaced by a sickly shade of green as the dropship shuddered and pivoted again.

Chief shook his head, then raised his harness. Holding onto the guardrails, he made his way up to the cockpit, opened the door, and sat in the empty co-pilot's seat. The pilot barely noticed, her helmet jerking around seeing all of the space outside the viewport in front of them and at her instruments. She yanked her hands on the controls, and the dropship began spinning, missiles detaching from the bottom of it and spiraling into a group of pursuing Mutalisks, exploding and killing all besides one. Chief imagined its shrikes in the void as it pursued, angry at the death of its brothers.

"Chief, activate the weapons console and shoot that thing for me, wouldya?" He confirmed her request, then switched the panel to active. Weapons displays lit up inside his suit and on the console, and he matched weapons appropriately for his victim. Twin 20mm chainguns rattles and blazed in the vacuum at the mutalisk, but the creature had learned that this target spat back. It bobbed and weaved around the bursts of fire, all the while returning it. Acid-coated worms ricocheted off the hull at several points, and Chief could tell that the dropship couldn't take much more of it. He finally caught with a triple burst, the creature rupturing into bloody chunks, but relief was short-lived as he targeted a flock of mutalisks and scourges that came at them. Firing off the last of their missiles, he managed to cause a scourge to prematurely explode by nicking its side, blowing a hole in their ranks. They continued on anyway, and the pilot flew sideways in every possible flying configuration to keep their fire from hitting, all the while Chief slowing killing them one by one.

We're 200 kilometers from Jericho, I'm going ot have put down there! Sorry!" The pilot shouted as she fought for control, and Chief nodded, then relinquichsed his control of the weapons console, leaving her to her duties. They were in a temporary bubble of no Zerg space, but Chief knew that wouldn't last. He opened a channel to Maybourne. "Colonel, we're landing at Jericho, ETA two minutes."

"Very well. Marines, gather your weapons! Remember, the only Zerg is a dead Zerg, so make sure that your shots count and we'll make they get A's for today's class!" The Marines chuckled and began gathering their weapons.

Chief walked to Linda, and they nodded. As the Marines began unharnessing themselves and prepping their gear, the two Spartans took point by the hatch. "I'm setting us down!" the pilot said, the hatch began to crank open, and Chief and Linda led the way.

Chapter Eleven, Part Three

The landing bay was in pure chaos, personnel hurrying to prep all dropships and fighters to launch. Overhead as the metal girders of the bay roof shook, the intercom blared "Evacuate! Evacuate!" then cut off with a screech of static.

John and Linda moved first out of the dropship, the troops following. Maybourne began barking orders. "Squad Two and three with the Spartans, Squad One with me! Go go go!"

John beckoned to squad two, while Linda took squad three. "We're going to CIC, find out what's going on. Take point." He moved as fast as he could, covering the empty expanse quickly, then entering the hallway. The lights had gone out, flickering in spots on the ceiling, and sparks erupted from a broken cable jutting out into the hallway. He moved forward, the Marines following him. Linda took a separate way.

He peeked swiftly around the corner and froze. The large outline of a hydralisk stood openly in the corridor, as if in wait, but it hadn't seemed to see him. Chief took out a grenade, activated it, then threw it as far down as he could. The sound of roaring fire echoed loud, an animal scream linked with it, and Chief smiled grimly, then swiveled around. The grenade had caught it in the middle, blowing the creature in half. Its blood eating away at the floor, the Hydralisk's top half was struggling to claw toward him. He raised his rifle and blew its head off, ending its struggles.

"Forward," and the Marines behind him moved as one, going slowly around the oozing puddle of goo and torn flesh that had been a Hydralisk. They continued onward, and when they reached the stairwell they got ambushed. A Zergling jumped out and with a flick of its clawed limbs smashed right through a Marine's helmet. Hydralisks fired their spines at point blank range then attacked in melee, the Marines screamed and three died right then and there. John reacted, moving his crippled body to the fastest speeds he could make it go and vaulted over the railing, onto another Hydralisk. With a jerk of his hands he ripped the creature's head clean, his shields shimmering as acid fell on him. A Zergling came at him, and John pulled out his retractable blade, the black ebony flickering. He swipe-swiped, and the Zergling fell at his feet in three pieces, acid blood oozing and burning.

He vaulted over blade in hand, and decimated the Zerg in such tight quarters. Twenty Zerglings and 12 Hydralisks later the passageway was clear, but John looked back and saw the cost of it. Mixed with the Zerg were the majority of his Marines in various states of agony or death, some dismembered, some burned. John cursed their lack of shields. He moved to the two survivors left, out of the 12 that had come. "You good?"

"No sir," one Marine said, his helmet and his eyes glazed over in panic. "They just—we just—we gotta—"

"Get to CIC, Marine," John growled.

"We gotta get out of here sir, those thing's will—"

John lifted the Marine off the ground suit and all. He said in a dead calm voice. "Marine, we are heading to CIC, and you are coming with me, or so help me to all the gods out there I will kill you here and you can join your brothers."

The Marine's eyes bulged in panic, then John's words sunk in and he hastily nodded. "Y-Yes sir." John let go, the Marine tumbling to the walkway, getting up and grabbing his weapon. John handed him his helmet, the Marine taking it and putting it on in a daze.

John sighed. He motioned to him and the other Marine, who had remained still through the crisis. "We can't go back. The Zerg are heading through the areas we just went through. The only way through is forward to CIC, so we must go through and pray that chance comes to those who reside." The two nodded, calming down somewhat.

"We continue." They moved on, past the bodies of their brethren.

They reached Jericho's CIC, the metal doors piled high with Zerg outside, crumpled and burned. Four sentries stood guard, and at John's ID they allowed him to pass. The two who came with him he told to stay at the door. He moved swiftly into the large circular room, saluting sharply to Jericho's Commander.

Ahab saluted back. "At ease, Spartan. Couldn't make it to the Magna Carta, huh?"

"No sir, the Zerg bypassed their entire area of space. Our ship was lucky to make it here as it was."

"I'm not surprised, from what our instruments can still read she's adrift, broken, and we're not much better." He waved the Spartan over to the shattered displays, one still barely working. "So far we've been holding up, and I issued the evacuation several minutes ago, but the Zerg have virtually swarmed over all of the checkpoints. Evac personnel have been rerouted here and here, and security's building a buffer zones at the entrances to block Zerg access, but they're sneaky. They've been apparently killing their own Zerg in order to burn alternative passageways through the hull with their acid blood, and so far they've been infiltrating the entire complex."

"Sir, we are evacing, right?"

"Yes we are, but first I have a special mission for you. I need you to get down to the Anterior Engineering Bays and activate the self-destruct we have there. Large black cylinder with white stripes, can't miss it, it's right out in the open. I tried to activate it from here and save you some trouble, but apparently the Zerg have burned through both the radio receiver and the manual lines. Think you can do it?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well. All personnel here with me, set any instrumentation to full automated, we're leaving." The few left on the broken bridge left, Ahab following.

John followed, and his HUD activated with an indicator as to where he needed to go. He flew down the corridors, jumping through a burned Zerg hole in the hallway to a lower level. He checked his ammunition: his rifle was half empty, his SMGs untouched, and he still had his blade. He continued, all the while noting the path of the Zerg's devastation and dwelling on it. They were animals, and it seemed that as he moved they had merely rampaged randomly, wherever another target presented itself. But the killing of their own and using their blood to circumvent traps or security…that didn't bode well.

His senses slowed, and he ducked and rolled as a massive claw came out of a vent. He rolled upward and fired, clambering aside and firing al the while as something large and spiny fell bleeding out of the vent above his head. He fired until the thing stopped twitching, then looked at his rifle's ammo count. Empty. He slung it, then drew an SMG and his blade, and kept moving. By this point almost all of the lights had gone out across the station at least where he was, the occasional flicker of red his only illumination. His audio speakers picked up the occasional sound of arms fire, the scream suddenly cut off, and inside his armor even he shivered slightly. This must be some iteration of hell.

He reached the outside hatch and paused, then opened it. The airlock blasted open, air sucked out and Chief following. He closed it behind him, then moved across the barren and slagged hull of the Jericho. He could see the bright flashes of weapons fire, the dark twinkle of Zerg pirouetting to meet them, and above it all the tranquil globe of Earth.

He moved twice as fast as before, bounding across in long loping strides. His feet had magnetic pads, enough to keep him anchored when he touched even the slightest bit, and he used that advantage, making his way across the jagged hull, leaping across blown-out chasm teaming with Zerg inside the hull itself. In a few minutes he crossed over a kilometer of station, and found the hatchway he was supposed to. He pried it open, the controls non-responsive to his touch, then moved. This area had been blown out and depressurized, so the only thing here would be him, and guys in armor, and the ever-present Zerg.

Though Spartans had been trained primarily to work in groups, they had also been taught how to operate alone, without reinforcements or backup. John used everything he knew, darting like a shadow across the deserted corridors, slicing in half the occasional unwary Zergling or Hydralisk on patrol. Due to the vacuum they could not hear him, which proved to be an extraordinary advantage for the Chief.

Finally, he arrived at the bay. The gravity field had failed some time ago, and so Chief leaped up the wall, scuttling from projection to projection. He spotted no Zerg here, and the large black cylinder on the left side of the bay. He moved towards it; it seemed to have received no damage. He began rewiring it quickly, the instruction he'd downloaded from what was left of the station's mainframe assisting him in his efforts.

The self-destruct was simple. It was effectively a self-contained, armored, very protected transmitter, which told every nuclear warhead and conventional warhead on board to prime itself and detonate. It would take care of the Jericho, the Magna Carta, and the station the Masada, which by all accounts was also ruined. The blast radius should also assist in taking out a large portion of the Zerg as well.

Chief finished, then primed it. The cylinder whined and shuddered, then sent the signal. Since no nuke had been fired from its moors, the explosion would be…impressive, to say the least. He had about five minutes to get out of the blast radius, and after a few hasty calculations in his mind Chief figured out what to do. He leaped up to the roof of the bay, fired his SMG punching holes in it, pried the metal apart and pushed off into space at maximal strength. He flew away from the Jericho, drifting in space, firing his SMG in timed bursts for extra velocity and maximum effect.

He was out of danger when the station blew. Searing white light bulged outward from the shredded metal, then enveloped it, flaring outward in all directions. The Zerg which had been converging on it vanished, followed by the detonation of the other two stations. In John's mind he could hear the faint sounds of screaming, an animal roar when pray has escaped it, a sound of primal rage.

John smiled. He'd hurt those things right back.

Chapter Eleven, Part Four

Norad II

En route To Earth

"Master Chief."

"Admiral."

"Mind telling me what you were doing drifting like that?" Admiral Hopkins had a bemused expression on his face.

Chief was standing stock-still while the technicians onboard the Norad II checked his suit for any problems; despite the fact that he had used it and it had held up just fine, it was still a prototype. "Sir, Commander Ahab ordered me to detonate the Jericho via its self-destruct. When I activated it, I didn't have much time to evac, so I shot my way through the hull and jumped."

"You escaped a multi-megaton nuclear blast by jumping away from it."

"Yes sir, with some help from the SMGs, sir."

Admiral Hopkins sighed. "Crazy Spartans."

"Sir?"

"You damn heard me, Master Chief." Hopkin's eyes twinkled. "Now, if you're done, we can get you some proper weapons."

"Sir?"

"Remember how you were supposed to eventually join up with my ship anyway? Well, I had thoughtfully brought some of your suit's weapons with us, in case something like this happened. Your suit-mounted weapons, that is."

"Very good, sir."

"Thought you might like it. Follow me." The two walked towards the Armory. Chief spoke first. "What's our situation, sir?"

"Well, they're clearing up the stragglers by the moon. Earth's ODC net provided cover fire for the lunar ODCs and also took out the remainder of the Zerg that you didn't blow up."

"Any word from Linda, sir?"

"Oh yes, Spartan-058. She took some hits, but her squad survived intact largely and evaced with Commander Ahab and his men."

"Good news, sir."

"Yes it is. We need every Spartan we got. Speaking of which, here we are."

Chief entered the room, which was covered in weapons of every conceivable description. Grabbing a fresh clip of ammo for his Gauss rifle, he slammed the clip home, putting the empty one on the table. He reloaded his SMGs as well, checked his blade which was re-folded in its thigh holster, and then grabbed a 12-gauge automatic shotgun, much more powerful than previous ones. Pseudo-Gauss tech had been put in it, so the shotgun blasts were individually much more powerful.

Hopkins smiled at the Chief's casualness with carrying so many weapons. "Here's the finale," and he personally unlocked a weapons locker, which had all of the suit weapons units that John had specified. John reached, grabbing a particle beam emitter for his right arm and a micro-missile launcher for his left. His armor easily bore the extra weight, and his HUD lit up with the weapons modules automatically interlinking with his systems. His eye shifted around the room, and he saw what he hadn't expected to see, a shimmering metal disc. He thought it was still in production. He picked it up and inserted it into the back of his neck in the interface module, a brief tingle, a cold flush into his brain, and he was startled to hear the electronic ramblings of a tactical AI in his head. He hadn't done that before.

The AI spoke first. "Why hello there Chief. I'm Cortana. Am I your tactical AI unit?"

"Yes, for now," Chief said calmly. "Suit status?"

"Readings are nominal. Those techs did a good job on your armor. A few dents and scratches, just cosmetic problems really."

"Good. Tap into local ship's systems, and keep an eye on the Zerg swarms and where they're going for me."

"Yes sir. Good to be working with somebody for once."

Chief turned to Hopkins. "Sir, the tactical AI is functioning as planned. We're good to go, sir."

"I bet you are. Unfortunately I can't stay Chief; make your way down to Medical; they have a little surprise for you."

"Sir?" John didn't like surprises much.

"Don't worry Chief, nothing bad. I'm going to get to CIC, see how far we have to go. Carry on."

"Yes sir." Hopkins left the Armory, and Chief grabbed an extra bandolier of explosive grenades, snapping it around his chest. Satisfied, he left and followed the corridors of the ship down to Medical, where he was greeted by the ship's physician. "Hello Chief. Right this way."

He followed slowly, making his way through the empty room cautiously. The room appeared to be empty, by all accounts; no patients today. The doctor gestured to a steel slab, clearly designed to support immense weights and not buckle. "Lie on your stomach, please. I'm to going to have to administer this via your suit, as we don't really have time to take it off and do this properly."

"What exactly are you doing, ma'am?"

"Hopkins didn't tell you? Oh well. Basically we've managed to replicate the genetic markers in Zerg DNA that cause such fast healing, and we've synthetically duplicated it. It will amplify your body's natural regenerative tendencies for a period of up to 72 hours; by the time that's over, any natural flaw in your body, including your leg paralysis, should be gone."

Chief thought it over, then nodded. The risks were worth it. "Do it."

The doctor picked up a large vial of a yellowish fluid, then inserted into a small port near Chief's back, one used for medical access. Chief felt the small prickle of micro-needles stabbing him gently in the curve of his lower back, then the rush of the fluid entering his bloodstream directly. "That should do it. You're free to do your duties, Spartan, but do be careful."

"That's not my job, ma'am." Chief stood off the steel slab, then paused. He could feel the tingling of the fluid already, it was already working. "Thank you."

CIC, Norad II

Five minutes later

Master Chief entered the dome of the CIC, and was reminded again of how similar it was to the Jericho's. Cortana had been updating him on what was happening outside the steel walls of the Norad II. A major Zerg incursion had been stopped at Titan, though now without tremendous casualties. Core Fleets was coming to supplement the defenses and prepare for the next attack, which would be arriving within the hour.

Hopkins turned. "Chief. Come up here and watch the show." Chief did so, standing next to Hopkins a silent observer as he barked out orders and received information in turn. Currently, Hopkins was snarling at the poor lieutenant in charge of communications for now. "Has Titan Base got any more NOVAs?"

"Uh, yes sir. Two, and one in construction."

"Good enough." Hopkins turned to Chief. "The plan is go out and intercept the swarm before they reach what's left of Titan's defenses, thin them out." He looked out. "ETA?"

"Five minutes to Titan Base, sir."

Thirty minutes later

Norad II and her sister ships of Core Fleet warped in above Neptune in a short-range warp jump, then continued further out past Pluto. Out here there were few outposts, the sun a single bright speck virtually identical to its surrounding stars. It was cold here, and dark, an unforgiving place for those who make mistakes.

Norad II swiveled once their rendezvous had been reached, and out of its hangar bay on jury-rigged rockets lay a deactivated NOVA Bomb. The Triskelion also swiveled and let loose its NOVA bomb as well, the two very far apart and separating rapidly. The Zerg Swarm was en route and would pass through this sector of space, and Core Fleet's job for now was to lure the Zerg, concentrate them here in as thick a number as possible. When the NOVA Bombs activated, there would be the most Zerg killed at once.

Another warp jump, and the Core Fleet was virtually on top of the Zerg vanguard. Rapid-fire nuclear missiles streamed from the Battle Cruiser's external missile racks, carpeting space with death and fire and decimating the Zerg front. In fury, the Zerg poured towards them, and laser cannons and railgun turrets opened up with everything they had. Still the Swarm came, ravening claw and slavering tooth against bullet, missile, and death ray. Their numbers seemed inexhaustible, and as if giving up the Core Fleet turned in a full retreat back towards Earth nd her defenses. The Swarm followed with all the forces at their command, attempting to fulfill their blind urge to destroy all in their path.

They soon approached the orbit of Pluto, and the plan was working, the Swarm blindly following them, swarming over the mines and hunter-killer platforms they dropped behind them heedless of casualties. On the Norad II, Hopkin's set in grim resolve, as he saw more and more Zerg funnel into the engagement area of the NOVA. This plan would only work out here, due the lack of planets or any infrastructure to destroy. Only ice and rock lay here.

At last, the level of Zerg approached optimum levels of density in the surrounding space, and Hopkins nodded, then pressed a single button.

The Core Fleet as one jumped back to Titan Base, their furthest surviving outpost. Behind them the two NOVA bombs detonated, their overlapping areas of fire covering, expanding and annihilating everything in their vicinity. Comets and errant rocks if not vaporized were turned into superheated shrapnel traveling at nearly the speed of light. What Zerg weren't immolated by the nuclear fire directly were shredded and destroyed by the shrapnel heading their way.

Within minutes the unearthly light was detected by Titan Base, as the Core Fleet had outrun the blast with their FTL. The news was received with jubilation, and the few hundred thousand Zerg that remained were easily destroyed with a few well-placed IPBM salvos. The Core Fleet departed to Mars to fend off another smaller Zerg front, but overall, with the assistance of the Alpha Beta and Gamma Fleets that had come in, the Solar System was finally safe, and the effort to rebuild and refortify their positions could continue.

Luna

Chief walked off the dropship, and looked up. Linda was there, smiling, and he smiled back at her.

The Zerg had been stopped. Now was when the work truly began.


	14. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve, Part One

One Year post-Battle for Earth

Harvest

"ACS Fourth Company, PRESEEEENT ARMS!" Sergeant Avery Johnson shouted into the comm system of his ACS combat armor. At his command, the 250 soldiers of the 57th Regiment, 4th Company sharply saluted, their Gauss rifles pointed at a 45-degree angle above the ground, forming an archway for the new commanding officer to pass through.

Captain Miranda Keyes did so, a faint smile on her lips as she walked up to the armor-clad Sergeant. Sergeant Johnson and the company had participated in a counter-Zerg op which had led to most of the company's decimation; it had been only because of Johnson's daring and his battlefield charisma that he was able to rally the company after the Captain Gallifrey's and First Lieutenant Baker's deaths, retreating to the dropships under heavy Zerg assault. She saluted sharply to Johnson, who saluted back. "I relieve your command of Fourth Company, Sergeant."

"I stand relieved, ma'am." Sergeant Johnson stood aside, letting Miranda Keyes continue with her entourage into the company barracks. Behind them, the meet-and-greet finished, the company dispersed to their previous activities. Many of them had been resting or getting patched up in medical for injuries when Keyes' shuttle had arrived. At her beckon he moved up to walk alongside her. "Yes ma'am?"

"I have a present for you, Third Lieutenant." She held a small black box in her hand and a piece of paper. The armored figure took it and read it, and opened the bow, the pins of a Third Lieutenant staring right back at him. "Command thought they should reward such initiative in battle, for once. I was in staunch favor of it, too."

"Many thanks, ma'am. Where're we heading next?"

"The company's been given some R&R, after the losses incurred with the last Zerg incursion." The two entered the Command Center, the nexus of their coordinating efforts. "We have no clue still as to how the Zerg have breached Harvest's perimeter, is that correct?"

"Yes ma'am, the only clue we had was when Zerg Hives started appearing out of nowhere in virtually random locations. Damn bugs."

Hayes stopped at Johnson's words, with a look of thought on her face. "Lieutenant, you're a genius."

"I am? I am, ma'am."

Hayes ignored him, turning to the communications console. "Send out word to Admiral Foster that I've officially taken command of 4th Company, and also send them the following message." She hurriedly typed the message down, then handed it to the ensign on duty. Hayes looked around the CIC, then turned. "Cancel R&R, Lieutenant. I think you just gave me an idea as to how to solve our Zerg problem."

"Orbital bombardment, ma'am?" Johnson took Zerg seriously.

"It might come to that. The 5th and 17th Fleets are on their way to initiate a nuclear bombardment of the surface, if it comes to that. No, we haven't gotten quite there yet. We're going treasure hunting."

Dark Side, Luna

Same time

"Testing ACS Omicron model now," Chief grunted. He ran along the dark side of the moon, barely even breathing, his legs moving like a blur as he sped up to nearly 40 kilometers per hour. He sensed the turret-gun pop up almost before his sensors told him of it, pivoting and slashing the turret in half with his arm-mounted beam emitter. He flipped in vacuum, pointed his .50 Gauss pistol and destroyed two recon robot planes that were coming toward him with several well-placed rounds. One had fired off a standard anti-personnel missile, and Chief with Cortana' computer-guided precision sliced it in half with the emitter.

So far several models of ACS suits had been built and deployed to UNSC forces to replace the older shieldless powered armor designs. In the year since the Battle for Earth, Chief, Linda, and the technicians at New Mombasa and Reach had worked on improving ACS powered armor even further. While they had been improving the overall ACS concept they had also spent their time designing ACS CQC suits, scout/sniper suits, and the current Omicron vac-ops variant that he was wearing. So far Chief and Linda had tested all of these models, Linda obviously preferring her scout/sniper suit, being lighter with less armor, an improved camouflage and deception suite, and much more enhanced sensors and zoom-optical feeds.

Chief much preferred this one he was using right now, the Vac-Ops model. Designed for long-term use in space it was still very handy planetside, as it boasted considerably thicker armor protection than the conventional Sparta-Alpha ACS model, which was the default suit for new Spartans and most of the USNC Marine and ODST soldiers as well. Vac-Ops, as well as thicker armor, possessed two shoulder-mounted plasma cannons and recently developed short-term jet packs. Derived from obsolete Reaper suits from the original Hyperion over two centuries ago, and best used in vacuum and in zero-G environments, the jet packs did work in atmo as well , rendering a certain level of tactical mobility when needed. It combined both small thrusters and a Protoss-derived antigrav system to temporarily "boost" the suit into the air, sort of leap-frogging over enemy terrain and forces at superbly fast speeds.

Chief used his antigrav and jet pack to land back on the lunar surface, and landed running. Robotic solders, automated turrets, and small anti-vehicle rocket drones were targeting him from all directions, and Chief danced the dance of death, hitting virtually of his targets in their most critical points. His destination was a hardened bunker that had been dug many decades ago and then abandoned, suborned for use in military exercises. He hit the meter-thick steel airlock, punching right though it, and continued deeper into the complex. When he reached the bottom of a derelict elevator shaft, he hit the small transmitter on the bottom, which switched from red to a pulsing green light.

His radio crackled. "Congratulations, Chief. Record timing," Admiral Hopkin's voice crackled.

"Not much trouble up top, sir."

"I bet. Probably have to upgrade the robots again just to keep up with you, right?" Hopkins chuckled. "Get back to the evac points, the robots have been shut down to make things easier."

"Why the rush, sir?"

"The Spartans are needed again, Chief, and they need a leader. You're going back to Harvest."

Chapter Twelve, Part Two

Harvest

2000 hours

August 10, 2493

Chief sat still encased in his armor as the Pelican bucked in atmo, screaming towards the surface of Harvest. He had kept the Omicron-model ACS suit, primarily for its thicker armor than other models and increased self-sufficiency. He still occasionally had nightmares, and even with Linda comforting him after he awoke shivering he still couldn't shake off this impending sense of doom concerning the Zerg.

Of course he had been kept plenty busy in the past year of course, training the second-gen Spartans, giving them pointers in anti-Zerg tactics from his experiences. He had also been working on, improving, and using the various models of ACS platforms, the results of which were some of his greatest achievements. The techs weren't Spartans, but they sure knew what they were doing.

Linda sat next to him, her helmet off, her red hair around her shoulders. She was checking her Oracle scope on her sniper rifle again, obsessed with keeping the device as perfectly functional as possible though they built them rugged and tough, like all UNSC weapons. Chief smiled under his helmet, and Linda looked at his helmeted visage. She squeezed his gauntlet gently with hers, smiled softly, then went back to her ferocious clean-up.

There was a part of Chief that was afraid of the Zerg, and another, courtesy of his alien heritage, that yearned to lash back at them. His spine had finally healed, but his interface and his experience using it had been analyzed, and ACS suits in the future would benefit from what they had discovered about the man-machine connection. But he was focused on the present, and with Chief's spine healed and his attentive constant vigilance over the past year, he felt ready to take them on as they deserved.

He pulled out his M47 Gauss rifle and began tuning it himself, checking it for flaws. They'd be landing soon, and after that they'd be too busy to do so.

Armon PDC

Same time

The 57th had arrayed themselves into parade formation in honor of who would be landings. Avery Johnson tugged at his uniform again; he hated being out of his suit, feeling like he was naked without it. "How long now?"

"Two minutes, sir. No Zerg contacts on our scope."

"Good. The sooner they land, the quicker we can be off fighting." Johnson had organized the regiment into moving out; the second the meet-and-greet was done they were off to battle. The regiment was all fully-equipped and armed, rifles slung until the Pelican arrived.

Johnson himself was slightly nervous. The reputation of the Spartan was admittedly short-lived but legendary. Spartans had accomplished missions previously deemed impossible, and were the field-testers of the UNSC's most-advanced military equipment. And, for the last year, there were only two Spartans left in existence.

"How's the Pelican, Johnson?" Captain Keyes asked as she stepped alongside him.

"Should be here any minute, ma'am." Miranda Keyes was in her dress uniform, and she looked just as uncomfortable as he did. "You ever met a Spartan, ma'am?"

"No." She shook her head. "Few have. I'm not entirely sure what to expect."

Johnson's mind reminded him to ask her the question he had wanted to ask her previously but had forgotten, just as the Pelican broke through the thick cloud cover. "How's your father, ma'am?"

"Jacob's fine, Lieutenant. He's probably in orbit overhead taking care of the Zerg."

"What's the name of his latest command?"

"The Pillar of Autumn, I believe. One of the new Kildar-class models."

"Real brutes I've heard, ma'am. Designed for anti-Zerg ass kicking, right?"

"Yeah. Shoosh." The landing of the Pelican drowned out her words, if she had any, the wing-swept metal bird landing gracefully with a sigh of thrusters.

The back hatch lowered, and out came the two Spartans they had been warned to expect. Keyes stepped forward. "Spartan-117, Spartan-058. Captain Keyes of the 57th Regiment. This is Lieutenant Johnson."

Johnson nodded curtly. "Pleasure to see ya."

The two Spartans nodded in return, then looked back at Keyes. "117 and 058 reporting for duty, ma'am. We have orders from Admiral Whittaker to place ourselves under your temporary command for the duration of this crisis."

Keyes smiled. "Fine by me. We're actually about to head to one of the trouble zones now. Hitch a ride with Johnson and provide support."

"Yes ma'am." Keyes turned to get into armor, while the two Spartans stayed behind with Johnson, who was nodding to himself quietly. He noticed the two looking at him, then smiled. "Sorry, got a tune stuck in my head. Right this way, you two badasses."

The three left to find a ride at the front of the convoy.

Chapter Twelve, Part Three

Harvest

The firefight was going in their favor, for the moment. An intense barrage of nuclear missiles by the task force in orbit had devastated the countryside and killed a lot of Zerg, but more had just seemingly erupted from the ground, replacing their numbers. The convoy had barely made it 50 kilometers before the ambush had overwhelmed them; the Zerg's central nesting sites had been obliterated, but they were still everywhere.

Chief and Linda stood side by side, their suit-mounted weapons providing a nearly 360-degree field of fire. Anything within their range died, the only problems the two warriors seriously faced being the energy levels in their reactors left. Over half the Chief's reactor fuel and its secondary batteries had been drained, but the Spartan had his hands full and had no time to correct this problem.

Johnson and the rest of the regiment had deployed into a static tortoise formation, layer upon layer of suits presenting a static formation which presented their full face to the Zerg, absorbing tide after tide of Zergling casualties. Around them fire teams of Marines cleansed specific areas of long-range Zerg such as Hydralisks, and squads of heavy-weapon ACS Marines were deployed to take care of Ultralisks. However, even with their precautions and training many in the regiment were already dead, or close to it, and the order to fall back to base was close.

Johnson had mounted an APC's 30mm chaingun when its gunner had fallen, his head ripped off from Hydralisk spines. Since then Johnson had kept up a steady stream of rounds into the Zerg swarm as well as an impressive vocabulary of invectives being thrown into the air. "Come on ya bugs, it's time for cooking!" Johnson roared into the suit's com as he mowed down swathes of Zerg.

Chief interrupted Johnson's tirade. "Fall back, fall back! Regroup at Armon, begin evac procedures." The ACS regiment began preparations to pull back as Chief switched to a different freq. "Armon PDC, do you copy?"

"Chief, what's going on? Sensors are malfunctioning, we can't tell what's going on," Keyes said.

"Let me guess, they're reading Zerg everywhere?" Chief jettisoned his shoulder-mounted laser cannon, its fuel having long since run dry, but his plasma cannon still worked. He made his way back to the APC over the bodies of shredded Zerg.

"Well, yeah, but that's impossible—"

"Captain, they're not. We're pulling back to Armon now, the Zerg are right on our tails. Some cover would be appreciated."

"Um, of course. We'll have a flight of Pelicans with anti-ground munitions inbound in ten minutes."

"Make it five, we should be on our way then and they'll still be in numbers."

"Right. Armon out."

Armon Base

20 minutes later

Chief and the remainder of the regiment had managed to make it back with no time to spare. As they crossed the flat plain and entered under the Wall, the Base's massive shield systems had rippled online, and the Zerg encroachment had smashed right into it. Titanic waves of Zerg of all kinds had emerged from the cover of the forests and were attacking in full force, smashing against the shields. Currently, Chief and the regiment were manning the Wall's defensive weapons platforms on the top of the palisades, and missiles and automated laser platforms had been adding to the carnage.

Chief was busy firing the 30mm chaingun on the Wall, and rethinking their options. Armon Base was surrounded on every angle of approach, the Zerg seemingly coming from nowhere, a tidal wave of flesh. "Captain, do you have any idea where these Zerg are coming from? We're gonna be overwhelmed in a few minutes if we don't stop the flow of these damn things!" he dimly heard Johnson shout over the din. Chief agreed with him; the few survivors they had would be overwhelmed.

Back in the central command tower, the automated defense cannons activated, and 80mm plasma shells began firing just outside of the shield perimeter, smashing and killing the Zerg there with impunity. Many floors below at the base of the defense spire lay the foundation of the Command Center for the Base, where Captain Keyes and her personnel were coordinating a losing fight. Johnson's words merely confirmed what Keyes already knew. They were all suited up, for preparation when the Zerg would break through. She would be damned if any more of her people would die today for being unprepared. "I know that, Lieutenant! The sensors are clogged; we have no idea where they're coming from. The shield's coming down; prepare to pull back."

"Aye ma'am. Johnson out."

Chief spoke up, his gravelly voice rippling through the room. "Captain, what transport do we have available?"

"A dozen Ares and Pelican-class dropships each, and three Heimdall-class transports." Heimdall-class troop transports were designed to bridge the gap between Battlecruisers and tactical dropships in carrying capacity, especially as modern UNSC Battlecruisers could not engage in atmosphere, bound to space. Heimdalls replaced their troop-carrying function, carrying over 500 men, over two regiments at once.

"That'll do fine, and more," Johnson grunted. The whoosh of rockets screamed in the com system, then died down. "We're breaking off, ma'am. Get those ships prepped."

"Roger, Lieutenant. I've ordered the pilots to wake up."

"Make some coffee too," Johnson chuckled. "Out."

Suddenly the Command Center rumbled. Keyes was thrown to the floor, her armor sparing her from any injuries, as with most of her people. She shakily stood up. "Report!"

"We've got Zerg in the complex, ma'am! Camera three feed!"

Keyes stared in horror. Camera three covered a wide area of blank ground near the three fusion reactors that powered the complex. As she watched in horror, the ground buckled, and a gaping maw filled with fangs and strange pseudo-tentacle arrangements burst into the open air, spraying dirt everywhere. With a long scream and a gurgle, the beast fell, and from its mouth were disgorged Zerg in tremendous numbers. She gulped, as the Zerg began tearing at the reactor wall itself, the concrete and steel protection providing little resistance to their acid. The wall breached, and many Zerg died at the direct exposure of the reactor core.

They were doomed, if they didn't leave now. "Reactor leak!" she shouted. "All personnel, abandon your posts! Make your way to the landing pads, we're leaving!" Her command reverberated through the entire facility, and overhead on the top floors the massive defense guns winded down, their power systems gone.

Unfortunately, the shields too were powered directly by the reactors. The blue shimmer in the air vanished, and the Zerg surged forward on the Wall. The remainders of 4th Company grabbed their weapons and fled, Chief and Linda at the lead. The Zerg would be detained by the solid Neosteel Wall, but it wouldn't last long.

The Heimdall troop transports loomed in the air, massive armored rectangular blocks with bulky engines strapped to them. The survivors poured into the ships, taking their seats and securing their weapons and supplies while Chief and Linda covered the stragglers. Already the Wall was slowly buckling, and there were more Zerg coming from the reactor leak.

Chief knew that the radiation wave would be behind them. "Go!" he waved, and Johnson and Linda ran onboard. Chief fired a few more shots, threw his remainder of grenades, then followed, closing the ramp. He shot a Zergling that attempted to climb onboard, and the ramp finally clicked shut. "Punch it."

"Aye aye, sir." The Spartan could feel the massive metal block rocketing slowly into the air, its speed increasing steadily as he staggered his way to a seat next to Linda. She gave him a Spartan smile with their sign language, and he signed back that he was fine. The howling outside of the hull slowly dropped in sound, until it was nothing but a thin whine, then finally nothing. "We're out of atmosphere, sir. ETA to the fleet six minutes," the pilot said.

Chief staggered his way up to the front, where Johnson sat in the copilot's chair. "Get word to the Chimera."

"Yes sir. You're on."

"This is Spartan 117 to the Chimera."

_Chief? What the hell just happened down there?_

"The Zerg performed a subterranean dig, sir, and have some way of ensuring our seismometers can't detect them incoming. They ripped the nuclear reactors wide open, sir, the entire site's gone. Recommend immediate nuclear bombardment."

_Agreed. Now that you and your men are out of there, we'll do our jobs. We're receiving reports of similar problems at the other PDCs. It looks like they were planning this._

Johnson spoke up. "Admiral, how the hell were there so many Zerg? It's like all of our intel just up and vanished; those bugs were swarming us with far more numbers than we expected!"

_Unknown Lieutenant. There was near simultaneous emergence right next to the PDCs, ones we didn't catch. Get back to the Chimera as soon as you can; our landing bays are preparing to receive you._

"Yes sir. Spartan 117 out." Chief turned his head. "Turn the rear cameras toward the planet; something's happening."

"Uh, yes sir," and a large screen on her board lit with the image of Harvest. "Holy—"

"What the hell is that?" Johnson sputtered.

"I don't know, Lieutenant. Get this recording, pilot."

What the three were watching was spectacular in its scale and horrific in its implications. Large patches of ground on the main continents, especially around the PDCs, were collapsing, like enormous chambers had been hollowed out from underneath. Enormous clouds of dust and debris were flying into the air from the collapses, and Chief noticed that the Zerg by this point were so enormous in numbers that they were visible from even their position in orbit, enormous dark swathes of them blotting out the sky.

Chief finally turned away, even his mask of certainty cracking. "Shut it off. Transmit our images back to the Chimera and the fleet." He walked back to his seat and sealed himself back up, transmitting the images to Linda. "What do you think?" he inquired on a separate channel from the rest of the Marines.

"The Zerg were underground, and they seem to have some way of disrupting or hiding their activities from our sensors."

"Yeah, and all of that activity in less than one year. We left no Zerg alive on Harvest, Linda. How did they get there?"

"Maybe those facehugger pods?"

"No; when I reviewed Harvest's satellite records on the way here, there was no indication of those, nor any animals or livestock being facehuggered. One of the first priorities after the first attack was setting up a full planetary satellite grid, so we've had full coverage since then."

"Maybe the Zerg can…regenerate…or grow, just from Creep maybe? They eat it, maybe it can create Zerg larvae or something, start the cycle again." Linda's suit shrugged. "I doubt we burned or destroyed all of it."

"Possibly, or spores perhaps."

Chief was interrupted by the dropship suddenly spinning and tilting, until the locked-in Marines and them were upside down. They righted again, and Chief heard on his suit com, "Master Chief, we've got some shit going on! Get up here!"

It was Johnson. Chief unlocked his seat and sprinted down the walkway, entering. A tactical 2d hologram had opened up in front of the pilot to assist her flying, as the newer dropships had no open-glass cockpits, and in front of them was one of the largest ships Chief had ever seen. It was far far larger than any ship class the UNSC had, over five kilometers long, and was very smooth and rounded in appearance. It had emerged from nowhere, and directly in front of them and the Chimera and the fleet.

The new ship was turning, heading into the upper atmosphere. The pilot was steering straight "up," going around the massive alien ship as it moved. "They're heading into upper atmo," Chief whispered, then the ship opened fire. Massive beams of white hot incandescence landed towards the planet, targeting the massive dark patches that indicated Zerg swarms. When those beams of light hit, the ground melted, and Chief could see from the newly-activated rear cameras entire sections of continents vaporizing under the assault. Blue-white streaks of light, possibly some form of torpedoes, streaked in, the massive white beams flaring up and down the planet all the while.

"What the hell are doing to our planet?" Johnson roared in his suit's com.

"Destroying it, from the look of it," the pilot shrugged. "That planet was doomed anyway. There's no frickin' way we could get the Zerg off of there if we tried."

Chief agreed, but they had an obligation to the UNSC to not allow this sort of thing to happen. The UNSC would destroy their own worlds, if it came down to it; it wasn't in the authority of aliens to pull any stunts like this. "Are we in range of the Chimera again?"

"Yes sir. I think I've rounded the ship's hump, and…there," and the Chimera and the fleet emerged from their shadow. Chief caught with only his suit comm dozens of transmissions, garbled and panicked. Admiral Whittaker apparently wasn't taking foreign intervention too well.

Chief spoke three words. "Leonidas teaspoon cheese."

"What?" Johnson mumbled as Cortana's AI activated in Chief's suit, her presence rippling like cool fresh water in his mind. "Hey Chief. So what'd I miss?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Chief thought back. "Could you try and filter out the comm transmissions? I need to speak to Admiral Whittaker about this."

"Righto, give me a second." The number of overlapping voices in Chief's ears dropped considerably. "Wow. This alien ship literally popped out of nowhere. Okay, I've got Whittaker online."

"Admiral, this is Spartan 117. Do you have order regarding the alien vessel?"

_Chief! Sorry, we're—_

Chief looked at the hologram, as a flaring beam of light lanced out from the alien ship and speared right through the Chimera. Using the suit's recordings of the Chimera's layout, Chief knew with a dread certainty that it had pierced right through the CIC of the vessel. The ship drifted to port, nearly sliced in half from the beam weapon, then flared and detonated in a flash of white light as her reactors overloaded. The ships nearest to her moved swiftly into emergency maneuvers, but debris smashed and crippled two more, from what Chief could tell.

A transmission crackled over the com, which was becoming more and more disrupted by the alien vessel's massive energy output. _This is...Captain Orzeransky, I'm taking command of the task force! All ships, launch all remaining nuclear weapons at the hostile!_

The task force opened up with all nuclear munitions, a cloud of high-yield nuclear missiles flared out towards the alien vessel. Secondary batteries of laser cannons from the alien ship began firing, tracking the missiles and shooting down many of them, but over three dozen survived from hundreds, with a combined yield of over thirteen gigatons. The hologram blanked out as a brilliant flash of overwhelming white light overloaded the holographic safeties, and Chief held on as the pilot flew on overload away from the blast, riding it out as best he could. After about thirty seconds of intense shaking, the Heimdall-class transport settled down, and the hologram flickered back on.

The alien ship was virtually untouched, save for some minor hull buckling and vapor emissions on the rear of the vessel. A strange energy shield flickered and then vanished, absorbing or deflecting the nuclear energy that had been released, and Chief was reminded of what little he had read about the Protoss. Throughout the alien vessel had continued firing, and by now most of the planet's crust was molten, and the oceans were beginning to vaporize. Thick clouds were encompassing the hemisphere, and it was certain in Chief's mind that all life had been extinguished on it already.

Clearly the UNSC ships had noticed this, as well. The ships of the task force began flickering out into warp space, fleeing the abandoned world and the monster of a ship that had taken residence in its destruction. Chief looked around, then sighed; they didn't have enough Marines to take on such an unquantified subject as this ship, and they were exhausted anyway.

He felt more than saw Linda approach and enter the cockpit, her breath short as she saw the alien ship. He was happy she was here. "Can we make it to a UNSC ship before it enters warp space?"

"No sir. The nearest ships are the ones jumping, and we can't make it to the others in time."

Chief sighed again. Very well. "Cortana, run the calculations, and spool up the FTL drive. Get us to Earth."

"The new drive they've been tinkering with? Shouldn't we—?"

"No time," Chief snapped mentally. "Just…get it done."

"Yes sir…we're ready."

"Jump."

The Heimdall-class troop transport flared in a flash of white light, and was gone.


	15. Interregnum 1

_Interregnum: The Other Side of the Mirror_

The fathomless Hunger slept.

While it slept it dreamed. Its was a highly linear existence of countless eons, one mind of the hunger and another of the depths of the Dreaming, the blackness where it swam undisturbed. It lived in the two worlds at once, and only occasionally did it move into one instead of the other.

It was of the mind of Hunger now. Hunger was all it knew, it built its world, it imprisoned it. It could not grasp anything else besides the need to consume, the need to grow and devour all.

But then…something happened. It happened to it, just as it has happened before to so many others. The Hunger was there, and there was what the Hunger needed to consume. A thousand thousand minutiae filtered through the sensorial of consciousness, trickling through blind ravage and instinct, until that which the Hunger needed to devour acquired the differential of consciousness, until the world became coherent and those terms made sense to the Hunger.

The Hunger realized, slowly, over eons of sleep and hunger, sleep and hunger, that it wasn't just the Hunger, that there…was…potential, that was the word, for it, beyond Hunger. Hunger became hunger, and other needs superceded its own. The needs of the countless numbers under its control, for example, which before it had viewed with same unconscious tendencies as a sentient viewed its appendages. The desires of new-found sentience, a variation on the countless hungers which superseded the Greater Hunger itself.

And one of its appendages, across the stars and dark worlds, had died, and been reborn, less than what a distant sapient race would call a year ago. Cerebrates were less worthy than that of a thumb, of that of a nail, trivial in need and far easier to create again from the ashes of memory.

And so it awoke from its Dreaming, enough so that the Dream of the Dark, itself, arose and tore holes in worlds and time. It was still technically asleep while its less-than-nail Cerebrate flew back to distant shores, on the by-products of its unconscious Dreaming, but even if the being of the Overmind had cared, it wouldn't have. Fingernails were not that important, in the greater scheme of things.

Onboard the Covenant vessel _Truth and Reconciliation_

"Shipmaster!"

"By your will." The alien Sanghielli, resplendent in his golden armor of station, moved to the Jackal's aid. "Report."

"Zerg forces detected, sir. Many of them, emerging on an unknown world."

"How far must we travel?"

"Over a thousand light-years, sir. Should take seven cycles of declination."

"Order our ship to pursue. We will report what we find."

"By your command." The Jackal returned to his duties.

The Shipmaster scowled, his fury at the lack of prey evident. Abruptly he turned and stalked off of the central Bridge platform. "Inform me when we arrive. I will be in my quarters."

In his quarters he shrugged off his armor in two swift movements, then sat in prayer. His fury grew close to overwhelming him, sometimes, evident of his worry of the Covenant's chances. He recalled his history well; many billions of cycles ago, the Covenant had been young, and only of the Sangheili and the Prophets. Their war had been great, but neither could kill the other. They agreed to unite, to further a pact of brotherhood forged by death, to continue the absolution of the Covenant for their prior sins.

The religious texts of the Prophets had contained references to the Great Enemy, the Scourge of the Forerunners, a race composed of anti-life. This Flood, as an alternative name used, had become the enemy that the Covenant stood in defense against, in perpetuity. Many races had joined or had been absorbed by the Covenant since those days, but for many cycles the Great Enemy had never been found.

And then the Great Enemy had been found, the pulsating unlife evident in their appearance and motives. The Covenant had rejoiced and joined in battle, their ships strong and their warriors many, but very rapidly it had become a losing battle, or at least one of constant perpetuation. Neither side could win, the Flood being too many, their numerous warriors with their sharp spines and bizarre biochemical weapons a perfect standstill against the religious frenzy of the Covenant's holy Warriors.

Thus it had remained, until the Covenant had discovered yet another Enemy, one that was not recorded in the ancient texts. They were of a power very similar to the Covenant's own, but wielded massive psychic powers in battle and were fewer in number. This enemy, called the Protoss, had refused to join the mighty alliance of the Covenant, the ones that had held off the Great Enemy itself for countless cycles! In response, to punish the Protoss for their arrogance the Covenant had invaded Protoss territory, seizing many worlds and slagging many as an example to these upstarts.

But the Protoss had not lain down their arms, instead fighting with a psychic fury that had surprised the Covenant. Out of pride the Covenant would not back down and give up, and the Protoss fought for defensive purposes primarily, but occasionally retaking former territory of theirs under Covenant control.

And this world, the strange one that was infested with Flood, was far indeed, almost outside the territory of the Protoss, almost beyond the Covenant's reach currently. But, the Shipmaster reminded himself, the Covenant always won, and always triumphed against their enemies. It was needless to say unusual that the Great Enemy would be so far from its normal territories, but this area of the galaxy was notorious for being uncharted and difficult.

He remained in the dark of his chambers, meditating, until he was called.

That time came sooner than expected. "Shipmaster, we will come out of Slipspace in two minutes."

"Understood. I will be there presently." He donned his armor and plasma sword then left, making his way to the Bridge within minutes. "Charge shields to full, arm plasma cannons and torpedoes. Begin preparations for planetary bombardment."

"Understood. Cannons charging, torpedoes armed and ready, and shields are at 75 charge."

"Good. Get us as close to the planet as possible."

"Exiting Slipspace in five, four, three…"

The _Truth and Reconciliation_ bucked into the realm of normal space, and the Shipmaster was forced to grap the handrail. He snarled. "Why is it so damned difficult to exit Slipspace in this area of space!"

"Shipmaster, we're picking up ships behind us to our flanks, and one small transport on our left flank."

"Analyze! Are they hostile?"

"No sir. They seemed to be bombarding the surface, fighting the Great Enemy with what they have."

The Shipmaster sneered. "They are not the Covenant. We shall wipe the Flood from the stars, and no other. So it was ordained, and so shall it ever be. Clear our skies for navigational purposes, and begin bombardment procedures." The carrier began throwing its fire at the planet, cracking the crust and destroying all Flood spores in the planetary crust, while a few plasma beams targeted the alien ships who were so few and so primitive.

"Shipmaster! The aliens fire missiles at our rear!"

"The gall! Activate defensive systems, but hold return fire! Let them see our power!"

The Greater Fires of the missiles struck and blinded their sensors for a few seconds, but the shields held. "Damage?"

"Slight armor buckling of the rear compartments and armor, sir. No damage otherwise, shields recharging."

"Good. They will our strength, if these are their most powerful weapons. Continue with the bombardment, and destroy those vessels from my skies."

"By your command."


	16. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen, Part One

Lunar Colony 12

Sol III, Earth

John and Linda entered the conference room in their full dress uniforms. Both felt naked without their armored suits, but they had been immediately called to tell their tales shortly after their arrival in Earth orbit, and had rushed to get here as fast as possible. As far as they knew, the others on the transport were being debriefed in separate rooms from their own.

In the room dwelt Admiral Palmer. Palmer was in command of local UNSC assets in lieu of the recent command restructuring. He looked incredibly somber, as word had already come in from the remainder of the fleet, from where they'd warped to on conventional warp drives. "Master Chief, Linda," Prescott nodded to the two of them. "If you'll be seated, we'll get started."

"Sir." The two warriors sat down across from the two men, and Prescott sighed. "Well, at least we know the Colonial's drive works in a combat situation. Cortana, any thoughts?"

The blue flash of Cortana's AI projection stood in the center of the table. "It worked far better than projected, Admiral. Original estimates were not nearly as far afield as occurred. Harvest is over 6000 light-years from Earth, yet we made it in about two jumps. Then again, I was calculating, so maybe my AI skills accomplished it. I recommend having an AI do these calculations in the future, if this was indeed the case."

"Possibly. I'll bring your recommendations to my superiors." Palmer looked up as Admiral Lee Adama entered the room, the Colonial / UNSC liaison. "Ah, Admiral. What brings you around here?"

"Consultant, Admiral Palmer," and Adama sat next to him, nodding at the Spartans. "I'm here to provide an…independent viewpoint. The testing of the reverse-engineered Cylon FTL drives is considered important by President Roslin."

"Very well." Ever since the refugee fleet from the Twelve Colonies of Kobol had achieved contact with Earth and the UNSC over eleven months ago, the UNSC had rapidly integrated them into UNSC society and embraced their cousins. Given three worlds moderately industrialized and planted with crops, but with few existing colonists, the Kobolians adapted fast to their new situation, given retraining and resettled on their new homeworlds. The Kobolians even had representatives in the UNSC Senate, by this point.

The Colonial military, mainly the Battlestars _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, were kept in the possession of the Kobolians becoming their defense force for their newly-acquired space, after getting a few upgrades free of charge from the UNSC of course. Lee Adama had been promoted to Admiral in the UNSC's ranks, once he had been given the appropriate training and had learned proper UNSC protocols and such, and had a unique function as the military liaison between the UNSC and the Kobolians.

And the UNSC had received the totality of Colonial technology, including their impressive railgun design, their immense Battlestar designs and schematics, their fast and maneuverable Vipers, the undiscovered mineral ore of Tylium, and most importantly their captured Cylon fighter with its attendant FTL drive, which the UNSC had quickly reverse-engineered with the help of the Colonials and then began producing and installing in their own ships.

Palmer looked at his papers, then looked at the two Spartans and Adama. "Well, we have a problem. This new Enemy is entirely unknown to us, and their attack on Harvest, while accomplishing what we would have had to do anyway, has proven ominous as it has demonstrated the power of their weapons and also their apparent hostility towards us, for whatever reason. However, we have a few clues as to who these aliens are, some of them from a rather unlikely source. Admiral Adama."

"Yes sir." Cortana's blue-on-white-code body flashed into a side seat, and began waving her arms emplacing holographic projections around the room for Adama to use. He motioned to a video of the unknown ship firing their weapons at Harvest. "There are references in Colonial Scriptures from the Scrolls of Hephaestus, which concern how the Twelve Gods guided mankind and introduced _technos_. However, according to UNSC translators who have been working with our Colonial brethren, they also have several references to what are called Dark Powers, who," and Adama looked down at his sheaf of paper, "called down the pillars of flame against the Gods, and for their heresy were expunged to the outermost Darkness between the stars."

Adama looked up at his now-rapt audience. "There are dozens of references to advanced plasma weapons being used and their affects on the land beneath, which seem to eerily match what we see here," and he waved again to the video of the alien ship firing. "This isn't hammered in stone, but it seems highly likely that at some time in the past that the ancestors of my people on Kobol ran into these aliens, and our Gods somehow drove them off."

"Is there a name given to these Dark Powers, aside from that?" Palmer asked.

"There is one other name given to them; they are sometimes referred to as "the Covenant."

Jericho V

Same time

The Covenant had landed troops on the planet, slicing through the orbital defenses easily as Jericho V's defenses had been undergoing construction and were mostly unfinished, but the planetary defenses and mobile forces were resisting with surprising ferocity. The Covenant had been forced to land on the outskirts of the city where the UNSC anti-orbital batteries and assault fighters had a less stubborn grasp of the situation. They had landed their transports, dozens of them, and had disgorged via tractor beam or old-fashioned ramp legions of the myriad creatures that made up the Covenant's hordes.

The courtyard echoed with the ripple of thunder as the three Mjolinor-class assault tanks fired their dual 150mm Gauss cannons simultaneously. Over three miles away the buildings occupied with Covenant troops exploded into shards of death, their troops crushed and immolated by flame and sheer kinetic angst. Their commanders, realizing the vulnerability of their position and learning rapidly of the threat these _hew-mons_ represented, despite their inferior status, ordered their troops forward in a massive charge.

The three miles between the large force of Covenant troops and the UNSC defenders was a virtual no-man's land, a large lake with bridges and abandoned buildings to the east on its edge. The bridges had been blown by demo teams days earlier, and the Covenant hadn't demonstrated the ability to make pontoon boats, so they were forced to go around the edge of the lake, which funneled them into a killing zone. The UNSC commanders had recognized this, and virtually everything had been emplaced to taunt them into charging, and then to take advantage of this fact.

Spartan-336, Murphy to his comrades, took up his Gauss rifle in his ACA A-variant combat armor and waited for the Covenant to approach the radar line. Part of the second generation of grown Spartans, his class had been forcibly graduated early, taking up their full enhancements (improved, of course, since the last generation's) and moving out on Kobolian FTL-capable transports, moving to hot zones breaking out all along the outer interstellar grid as the Covenant began to move en masse against the UNSC's territories. Unlike Harvest, the Covenant received a warm reception, one in which Murphy was proud to have kicked their asses this far.

His blood-brothers supported him, and over 70 of them stood with the hundreds of ODSTs and Marines which had survived, providing much-needed reinforcements. They had been promised more, but the Covenant had deployed enough of their larger carrier-analogues that they simply wouldn't be here in time. But the Covenant were so occupied that their own reinforcements couldn't make it here either. Hence this taunting ploy, to thin the Covenant's ground numbers before anything of value changed.

They were obliging, as the last salvo of tank "silver bullet" rounds, the last they had had, had demonstrated. He watched as the last rounds they had for the tanks, their large canister rounds, were fired, opening immense holes in the Covenant formations, only to be filled again. Then, their rounds were used up, leaving only their machine guns and such useful. It was time for the infantry to do their job. "Prepare for combat!" Murphy shouted, and the Marines which had been resting picked up their arms from the ruble and tuned enemy targets to their sites. "Pick a target and fire!" Murphy shouted, firing a grenade round from his rifle's underslung grenade launcher than killed dozens of the bastards. Snipers rained death from their 20mm anti-vehicular Gauss sniper rifles, blowing the pseudo-reptilian commanders – Elites, some were calling them – and the large hulking monsters – Hunters into confetti with one round each.

Though the wave began to fray, the sheer momentum of their charge would not be denied, and they entered their own firing range, firing their own plasma weapons and other exotics. Murphy took cover behind his large cluster of granite as plasma fire melted the boulder's edges, then turned and returned fire. All along the line, about 600 meters wide, all of them were pouring fire into each side like a brutal slugging match.

Two hundred meters, one hundred, fifty, then they were upon them. Murphy slung his rifle and flicked open his monomol combat baton as an Elite leaped over his boulder and swiped at him, growling in its harsh alien tongue. Murphy thought otherwise, and within a twitch on his nervous system the Elite's head flew from his shoulders. Murphy instantly spun for more targets, and A Brute, large monkey thing, charged, clipping his armored shoulder and sending him flying through the air. The Brute snarled, but soon lost his ability to walk as his legs were cut off with a flick of Murphy's hand before he flew out of range. Time had slowed down, and as the world crept to a crawl he moved, grabbed his .50 Gauss pistol in his other hand, and fired into three Hunters before he landed, blowing them up from the inside with his Colonial-derived explosive rounds.

He then landed on his feet from the Brute's blow, then looked for more targets, finding plenty.

The battle was vicious, but in the end the Covenant won. The Spartans led the evacuation, while the Covenant were too exhausted or crippled to cheer over their victory. Blasts of imploding air showed where the evac shuttles FTLed while still only a meter off the ground, but the Covenant were too busy securing the site, and digging.

Lunar Colonies, Observation Bay 23

Same time

The Master Chief stood by the port window, watching the ships moving out. The damage from the Zerg assault over a year ago had been long ago been purged and healed, and entire fleets of new vessels were moving out into the frontier.

The debriefing had devolved into a discussion of what might the UNSC do, and Palmer took all of their thoughts, even John's and Linda's into consideration, which the Master Chief thought unusual for an Admiral to do. Then again, himself and Linda were THE best eyewitnesses to this Covenant threat, so maybe it that was it.

Chief's distraction vanished when Linda sidled up alongside him, wrapping her hand in his. He looked at her, and she smiled. He knew what she meant to do, relieve him of some of the burden of thought.

They stared out the window, until they saw a faint flicker of light, and then several. Chief recognized them for FTL bursts, and Linda ran with him to the landing bay as the ships came in for an emergency landing. The intercom blared for medical attendants to descend on the landing bays, and so the Spartans followed, curious and possibly needed.

The landing bays had no doors, no openings of any kind, protected by thick armor. Only ships that knew the coordinates could FTL in here, and the two dozen shuttles and dropships flashed into being, landing as the bays pressurized. Out of the closest one stepped a Spartan, coated in gore and nursing several melted rents in his armor. Linda began helping him out of his armor while John spoke. "Report, Spartan."

Once the other one got his helmet, he smiled. "Spartan-336 Murphy, sir. We're from Jericho V, just fought off an alien assault. I've got some information for the higher-ups of a highly significant nature."

Chief nodded, looking at Linda, who nodded her head. He could move safely. "Okay, come with us. We'll take you to Admiral Palmer," and the three of them departed.

Chapter Thirteen, Part Two

A medic was looking over Murphy injecting nanobots into his arm and looking over Linda's rudimentary bandages. This was occurring while Murphy spoke in excruciating detail to Admiral Palmer, who's face was looking grimmer by the second.

"…when we'd landed," Murphy was saying, "it turned out that I had become the lead officer on sight, so I deployed our group to reinforce and bolster the troops and took stock of the situation. We had only a few hundred total against what had been read by the orbital satellites as over 20,000 alien troops, and that was before they got shot down. We had deployed our tactical AIs scanning the local tactical nets, and we had discovered to our utter amazement that the aliens were talking on unencrypted comm channels. Naturally, our AIs plunged into them and immediately began finding lots of interesting data." Murphy took his arm gauntlet, which he'd kept by his side, and took out his AI's chip, plugging it into a slot on the table. The image of a deep red and black swirling mist swirled above the table, the avatar of Cloaking Ebony. "Ebony, give us a summary of what you and the others found out."

The mist swirled slightly faster as if in acknowledgment, them vibrated in this unnaturally deep voice, though feminine too. "We found several of their local supply areas and staging points here and here," and next to her popped up a map of the Milky Way galaxy as a whole, "and we found out their settled territories." The galaxy was covered to most of the galactic east, across from their position from the Core, in a stained crimson. "We also discovered the locations of their enemy, which they referred to as the Unbelievers, but also as the Protoss, their name given to themselves apparently." The other side of the map, enveloping but not quite touching UNSC territory anywhere, stained a brilliant yellow. "Also, several locations for settled Zerg locations," and smaller lobes of different intensity turned a black-blue like a bruise, "and the original home locations for the Xenomorphs," and close to the core blazed an acidic green splotch.

Admiral Palmer gulped, then leaned back in his chair. "Stop summary." Ebony obeyed, and Palmer wiped his sweating face. "Jesus Christ, we're the smallest power in the galaxy from this map! Ebony, are you sure this data is reliable?"

"Certainly, sir. The Covenant have no AI capacity that we could tell, nor it seems software sufficient to even run it. Their computer systems are incredibly advanced to ours, but they run very primitive programs with many code errors in them, like they duplicated from a common source and never improved or cleaned the code. Shall I continue with my summary?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Covenant fleets in this sector are rather spare, as the Protoss have not attacked in reclaiming their territories for several years. Their ships have been redeployed along this corridor of held space," the crimson arm reaching from main Covenant space to Protoss space, "back to their territories to fight the Zerg, as their attacks have grown in strength over the past forty years."

Palmer looked intent at the map, and Master Chief spoke up, inserting his AI chip into the computer terminal as well. "Ebony, speak with Cortana and update the map with the Colonials, their former territories, the possible locations of the Cylons, the attack on Jericho V, and the locations of as many of all of the faction's forces as possible."

"Yes sir." The mist visibly paused, conversing with Chief's AI, then moved again all in less than three seconds. A large chunk of space, translucent and hazy popped up. "From Colonial records and the records from their war, the Cylons might be anywhere in here." A small dot appeared, a white pulsating dot. "That is where the Twelve Colonies are located, and Kobol is here," and a slightly less pulsing orange dot popped up far away from the other one, about halfway from UNSC space and the former Twelve Colonies.

Admiral Palmer turned to Murphy. "As of now, I need to confiscate your AI and the information it holds. We need to get copies of this information to my superiors. I'll get her back to you as soon as I can."

Murphy nodded, the medic's nanobots and the drugs making him slightly sleepy. "Yes sir, perfectly fine. It'll take me a bit of time to get patched up anyway."

"Great." Ebony vanished as Palmer gently took her chip out of the console, then turned to Murphy. "Murphy, what else was there you wanted to tell us?"

"Hmm? Oh right." He smiled in a daze. "Put Ebony back in." Palmer did so. "Ebony, show them what the Covenant were doing."

Ebony flicked on an aerial view, retrieved by the dropship, right before they FTLed to Earth, of the Covenant digging, setting up sentries and clearly making camp. Then, a series of sound emitted from the console, which soon were re-ordered into English. "We have established camp, Shipmaster, and we have begun our dig to find the energy signature. The humans are fleeing in disgrace. Long Hail the Covenant!"

"Good work, Bronzai," said the Elite at the other end. "Your orders are to acquire this," and a hologram of a pink crystal flared into being. "It is the object emitting the energy signature, so track it using shipboard instruments. It has information needed to find the Sacred Rings engraved inside its innards. Failure…is not an option."

"Yes Shipmaster. I will not fail!"

The image vanished. "That was all that recorded before our FTL jump, Admiral," Ebony said.

"Thank you, Ebony," Palmer said, then retrieved the item again. He turned to the Chief and Linda. "Find Admiral Adama, and get him to contact their Colonial translators. We need to find out what the hell these "Sacred Rings" are, and fast. Maybe there's something in their Scriptures again about this. "

Murphy was asleep as Palmer left, leaving John and Linda the only two in the room aware of the situation. "I'll take Murphy to his quarters, Chief," Linda sighed. "You go get Adama. This is important."

Chief found Lee Adama in his office, working on the stacks of electronic paperwork and datadisks that were still going between their two cultures. "Sir, permission to enter?"

Adama looked up, his eyes crossed from staring at his work for so long. He shook his head, then smiled blearily. "Sure can, Chief. What can I do for you?" Chief went to the cooler in Adama's office, filling a cup of water and giving it to the Admiral. "Thanks. What is it? You're not normally like this."

"Admiral Palmer wanted me to contact you. We just received intelligence from Jericho V of a Covenant expedition digging…in the center of one of our cities."

"My sympathies, but why does Palmer think I can assist you?"

Chief paused. "We received and decoded a Covenant transmission. What do you know of "the Sacred Rings"?"

Adama's sip of water spurted out of his mouth as he choked in clear shock. Chief lunged and grabbed the water before it spilt all over his desk. "Thanks," Adama gasped, rearing back in his chair. "Say that again?"

"Sacred Rings."

"Gods." Lee Adama looked across his desk, then shuffled in the pile of electronic text files, until he found what he was looking for. He took the text reader and placed it on his desk, tapping in a specific code-word to open it, reading the contents rapidly. "Oh no," he sighed, virtually falling into his chair.

"What sir?"

Adama looked into the Chief's eyes. "If I'm right the Covenant are about to doom us all."

Chapter Thirteen, Part Three

Elysium Main Chamber and Auditorium, Mars

Three Days Later

"We discovered the first evidence for these Sacred Rings in the Scrolls of Aurelius, the most wise and honored of Hephaestus' servants," Adama spoke at the podium. Above his head, a massive hologram of the text itself revolved slowly. "Aurelius was the first eyewitness to the Dark Powers, or the Covenant as their alternate name. He directed the Dark Powers to the City of the Gods, where they met with the Gods and pretended to "ask sufferance and worship the Gods as we did." The Dark Powers quickly gave up the ruse and attempted to seize the City of the Gods with force, with "soldiers of many lands", "swords of flame", and the previously-mentioned pillars of flame."

"What is relevant to this discussion, though, is just how the Dark Powers fell out with the Gods. They had spoken of seven Sacred Rings, which were precious to them, and were seeking them out. The Gods did know of the Sacred Rings but refused to speak of their location, or of anything of their nature. The Covenant attacked then."

Admiral Prescott spoke up. "What, exactly, are the Sacred Rings? What do they do, and are they a threat to us?"

Adama smiled. "Ah, we're not entirely sure of that, Admiral, of any of the answers to those questions. It seems the Rings are large artifacts, and that the Covenant believed them to assist on the way to "the Great Journey," which I can only guess was their equivalent to going to the heavens. However, in the Scrolls of the Seven Elders there is one mention of the Rings, and a puzzling reference to something else, a "Great Darkness" or flood. This could be a phenomenon, an object, or a race, we don't know. The rings, the Seven Elders claim, were weapons to "drive back the Darkness." I leave the floor, here, to Cortana."

Cortana's AI image flashed to human-size next to Adama. Above, the large scrolls changed to a playback of the last recorded images of Jericho V. "Cloaking Ebony and I worked on this, and we seem to have multiple lines of evidence to confirm this. Ebony's digging around in the Covenant networks on Jericho V resulted in lots of enemy intel," and a separate screen flashed into view, updated with the location of all major powers in the galaxy. "However, in addition they found scattered lines of religious text it seems. According to the data in their networks the ring has some kind of deep religious significance. If I'm analyzing this correctly they believe that the Rings are some kind of weapon - one with vast, unimaginable power. The Covenant kept saying that whoever controls the Sacred Rings, which they refer to as Halos, controls the fate of the universe. This would match with Admiral Adama and the Colonial scientist's translations."

Admiral Palmer walked up to the podium, nodding to Adama and Cortana. "Thank you Admiral, Cortana." Adama left the stage, and Cortana winked out back into the net. Palmer stood at the podium now. "We have a problem, ladies and gentlemen. If Halos are a weapon and the Covenant gain control of them, they'll use them against us and wipe out the entire human race. We can't let that happen.

"We are prepared to fight off the Zerg; our orbital defenses are strong and can hold them off easily, and are still growing in strength. Now we must prepare to fight off a radically-different enemy, one who fights much like we do and thinks and feels. Conventional warfare seems to have finally come back in style, ladies and gentlemen."

The room rumbled with low laughter, and Commodore Cole's hand shot up. "Yes, Commodore?"

The tall thin pale man stood up to speak. "It seems to me at least that the vital areas of the UNSC, especially Earth and the most heavily-developed worlds and shipyards, need to be protected from harm. If the Covenant begin trying to track down and launch attacks on our worlds, we must keep them from doing so easily. I propose a protocol enacted that will keep the Covenant from easily finding our worlds, by having ship captains in moments of danger or possible capture purge their navigational databases and detonate their computer cores, as well as the termination of all AI onboard. The Covenant will only find a burned-out hulk, if or when they get their hands on one of our ships."

Palmer nodded. "A wise suggestion. Who wishes to see the Cole Protocol enacted?" Almost every hand shot up. "Very well, Commodore. Draw up a more detailed version of your plan and we'll get it sent out."

Prescott stood up. "It occurs to me the old saying "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Possibly we could send a delegation over to the Protoss, as they're fighting the Covenant the same as we now are."

"That…is a definite idea," Palmer admitted. "However, I feel I should remind everyone here that these Protoss are not necessarily the Protoss that we know of from the Hyperion's databanks. It seems pretty clear by now that their two histories have diverged pretty significantly some far point in the past, so by now they could be an entirely different people. Nothing's for sure; if we sent an ambassador to them, they could turn out to be a greater threat than the Covenant!"

"Going through the Covenant data on them should reveal the extent of the divergence, though," Prescott insisted, still standing.

"Hmm…good point. Our xenobiologists and translators are already sifting through the Covenant data retrieved, so we'll have to wait on that." Palmer paused briefly. "We should send a fleet back to Jericho V and stop the Covenant from getting the crystal they're looking for." An ensign ran to the podium out of breath, having just entered the chamber. He handed Palmer a sheaf of papers and left, and Palmer whistled. "Well, well. Good news, folks; we've sent cloaked _Zephyr_-class destroyers to Jericho V, and they've sent back word that the Covenant are progressing incredibly slowly. We have locked on to the same energy signal that the Covenant were looking for, but there is an unusual resonance to the signal that is preventing us from achieving an exact lock. Probably this is affecting the Covenant too, hence why they're covering ground so slowly."

In the end, the decision was made to avoid the Protoss, and to send a fleet to Jericho V in retaliation for the Covenant attack. The primary goal: get Spartans to infiltrate the primary command cruiser hovering over the site, and then either retrieve the crystal or destroy the ship.


	17. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Reach

One week later

Chief looked over his weapons inventory, an immense table filled with every weapon available to Spartan, Marines, and military personnel in general. He was clad in his Omicron ACS suit, and he needed to pick that which was most appropriate for their upcoming mission.

He would have to choose carefully, for Chief recognized that, aside from the failure of the Zerg infiltration mission, this was probably the most dangerous mission he had ever been on. An entire world held by the Covenant, entire fleets taking up residence in orbit, just waiting for the UNSC's inevitable counterattack to reclaim their held world. And then, once they could get through the enemy fleets in place, they had to fight through kilometers of rubble-strewn enemy-held terrain, and then board the lead Covenant ship hovering over their dig site.

Chief sighed; he'd need weapons that were good flexible tools. He wasn't getting his weapons right now, but he needed to know what he would use ahead of time. Chief was a big fan of planning ahead of time.

Linda walked up in her armor, but without her helmet. Her crimson hair rippled in the light wind blowing through the hangar. Aside from them, targets, and a few vehicles to their left, the hangar was empty except for them. "Choosing?"

"Yeah." He took off his helmet, wanting to see his partner with his own two eyes. "Sometimes I wish they'd engineered us with four arms; then we could kill more of the enemy quicker."

Linda smiled, placing her hand on his shoulder. "We're quick enough."

"You here for the demonstration too?"

"Of course. You didn't think I'd miss it, did you?" she said looking at him.

"New weapons demo, so what," Chief tried his hand at joking. "We know you'll be using Cassandra, anyway."

"Leave her out of this." Cassandra was the name she'd given to her sniper rifle. "Considering my profession, I'm very interested in new weapons, even if I'm not likely to use them."

"Right." Chief knew Linda would be proficient in using them within a few days; she tended to be rather obsessive with retaining expert proficiency ion all of the weapons she ran into.

"Chief, Linda," Johnson said as he walked across the hangar bay towards them. Dressed in light armor, he was smoking a cigar, a habit the two didn't know Johnson had.

"Third Lieutenant," they nodded.

Johnson poked his stogie at the pile of weapons. "Somebody in a bad mood, or this show getting on the road yet? I've got Marines to pound into the dirt!"

"They'll get their weapons, Lieutenant, don't worry," said Keyes, completing the ensemble. She was dressed in an Omicron vac-suit like Chief's, which he discovered later was for picking up some of the massive devices easier. "All right, gather around everyone." The three did as instructed. "We have several weapons assemblies that we're demonstrating here today, and Chief will be doing most of the dramatic work."

Chief put on his helmet, ready for business. "All right."

Keyes handed him first a massive chaingun, but with much larger barrels. There were immense ammo drums underneath the assembly, feeding from underneath it seemed, and even Chief's massive strength could hold it only with effort. "What is this, sir?"

"This is a Shotcannon. Some of the boys in R&D have been cobbling this together on and off for several months, and it's basically the love-child of a shotgun and a chaingun, as it sort of looks like. The ammo drums feed into the bottom here, maximum of three of them. One operates it with the firing stud on the left, and the bracing attaches partially to the arm of the suit, relieving partially the weight of the device for the wearer." Chief followed her instructions in attaching the device, two swift movements and several flexible magnetic clamps.

"Chief, wait a second." She activated a robotic drone, shaped like a Covenant Hunter. The massive robot growled menacingly and raised its massive laser cannon, but didn't fire. "Everybody back off," and Chief left alone in the hangar with the robot. "It's going live…now," and she pressed a red button.

Chief moved quickly, slowed down significantly by the massive device. The Hunter, free of such restrictions as flesh and blood, moved much faster, its massive metal shield in front of it, firing shot after shot from its laser cannon. Chief dodged most of them, then thumbed the firing trigger. The recoil nearly catapulted him backwards, and only by bracing in position did he keep himself from doing that. The rat-tat-tat of fired shells stopped when he let go, and Chief looked in awe. Even with the creature-bot's thick, nearly-invulnerable shield, the shotcannon's immense shells have perforated the device, and where the shield hadn't covered it, mainly the tips of its legs and it head, the robot had been torn apart effortlessly. The ground around it had been shredded too, and the metal plates had been smashed and buckled with the immense kinetic energy focused on it.

Chief walked over and put the device back on the table. "Impressive."

"But not least of them," Keyes teased, and handed him a different device. "This may resemble externally a rocket launcher, but the resemblance ends there. Internally its crammed with Gauss accelerators and energy capacitors." She picked up a pointed length of metal, the shape of a pencil but the size and length of a spear. "This is a steel-titanium harpoon." She loaded it into the back of the device, then stepped to the side. "This device, a hyperkinetic launcher, accelerates the harpoon to about 5 of lightspeed. The launcher has a charge for about 10 rounds, after which you need to recharge it, get more ammo, or both. However, due to its speed and such it can instantly destroy any target with sheer kinetic stress, and doesn't need guidance also. It's basically point-and-shoot."

Keyes guided the Chief with the loaded launcher to a specially-prepared section of the hangar bay, with three ten foot tall, six feet thick slabs of Neosteel awaited him. The three massive slabs were in front of each other like a stack of dominoes, with about ten feet of empty air between each one. Chief was a good two hundred feet away from the three slabs before Keyes motioned for him to stop. "Okay, Chief, go ahead. It's set at half power, so don't worry about that. Firing stud's on the right, like a standard rocket launcher. Simply point and click."

Chief nodded, looking ahead with the optical-zoom function built into his suit. A brief flicker of motion caught his eye in front of the first slab and he pressed the trigger instantly, and while the device itself was pretty quiet the resultant explosion wasn't. Even two hundred feet away, Chief found himself flung backwards. Picking himself off of the ground, he simply stared at the gaping crater left where the three slabs had been. The first had a hole the size of a jeep blasted through it, and after a second of hovering in mid-air almost comically the steel shards fell straight down. The second and third behind it were no better, shredded and mutilated beyond recognition, bulging backwards with a hideous distending effect. Through the third slab, Chief saw a man-sized hole, and the rear of the warehouse blown outward in shrapnel.

Chief winced at whatever he needed to use this device on full power against; certainly Hunters, Covenant vehicles, and aircraft weren't a problem anymore.

Johnson spoke first. "Holy shit Cap! You've just given every infantryman an anti-starship bazooka of doom! Damn!"

"Pretty much," Keyes smirked. "Because of its power we're also keeping in stock standard guided rocket launchers. These are to be reserved for specific situations."

"…Such as taking out grounded Covenant starships," Linda said.

"Precisely."

"What else do we have?" Chief said, walking up and putting the HKL down. He was almost afraid to touch it.

"We've brought back an old design as a sort of carbine," Keyes motioned, picking up an ancient relic of war. "This is a modified M41B Pulse Rifle. These things have been around for centuries, but we've managed to improve on their penetrative capabilities and added a few ammo selections. One can load specific half-clips and then switch between ammo types with specific code-words to their suit AI."

Chief and Linda picked up one each to practice toggling between with, while Johnson merely picked one up and ogled. "Ya know," the dark-skinned Lieutenant broke out. "My family's had one of the first Pulse Rifles in our house for generations. My granddad passed it to me when my father died." He cocked the weapon, pretending to fire. "These guns are virtually indestructible, and they never jam. Ever. If they're anything like the old model, that is."

"They're mostly identical," Keyes said, putting Johnson's rifle back on the table. Internal modifications, coated in thin internal layers of neosteel. The gun's heavy but very tough, and with Spartans and most Marines the weight shouldn't be a problem."

"What sort of rounds can we use with this?"

"They're all 10mm. There's the standard explosive light armor-piercing round from the old models, there's incendiary rounds, there's poison-filled darts, there's even experimental flash-bang bullets, which explode in mid flight and create a wall of blazing light. Blinds most of our optical-based sensor systems, and should do the same to the enemy."

Linda put the Pulse Rifle down. "I'm impressed. Anything else to show us?"

"In terms of pure infantry weapons, yeah. But we have some vehicles too." A Warthog pulled up, one of the transport variants, and all of them piled in. The Warthog lurched into high speed, leaving the hangar bay hoverpods whining. They reached an empty landing field, empty that is except for a series of ground and clearly aerial vehicles.

Keyes hopped out of the passenger seat. "Alright, first up is the Apache gunship. We took the concept from the Apache attack helicopters from the late 20th Century and simply added modern technology. Because we have dropships they don't need to transport many people, so they're a pure gunship. They possess three anti-grav hover pods underneath, which are protected by layers of Neosteel and Titanium-A. Supplementing them and adding to the gunship's maneuverability are retractable rotary blades like a helicoptor's, so if the primary anti-grav is hurt or busted somehow then the rotors could try and take up the slack." She walked around to the front, where several weapons bristled. "On the right and left of the cockpit are twin 20mm chainguns for attacking ground targets, and where a transport capacity used to be in the main body, there are two retractable missile bays, filled with HALO missiles, which can be used on both ground and air targets."

Hief looked the design over. It looked solid for sure, but… "I'm assuming these have been tested in combat sims and such," he said flatly.

Keyes gave him an odd look. "Of course. All of these models have." She moved to the next one. "Here's an updated version of the Goliath Combat Walker. We never needed them before, but with the Zerg and now the Covenant… They're equipped with dual 20mm chainguns, and on the arms they possess four mini-homing rockets for further offensive purposes. On the back there's over 30 of the new and improved Hellfire missiles, which have specks of antimatter contained in them. The cockpit have increased armor coverage and has been reinforced with Neosteel and Titanium-A, so the cockpit vulnerability's of previous models are now much less."

Johnson cracked his knuckles. "I gotta get me one of these!" he cackled. He looked at Keyes with a look.

"Yeah, fine, Johnson, go ahead," Keyes sighed.

With a grin of glee Johnson leapt over to the massive four-meter tall device. Popping the cockpit seals, he hopped in with his light armor, and the cockpit closed anyway; apparently the design of this Goliath had someone in armor piloting it in mind. Johnson quickly scanned the controls, and an optical-interface descended over his eyes, showing an HUD which displayed tactical information and, conveniently enough, the basics on operating it too.

He inserted his arms into robotic servos that amplified his arm's and leg's movements into the machine's movements, and he felt a slight tingle as a bio-net latched onto his head, hooking up with his neural interface. Suddenly the machine was his, and he was the machine. The rockets and guns were his anger and his retaliation, his claws, and he looked around for targets. When he saw nothing, except for Johnson's friends, he spun down his weapons, retracting the rockets back into position, and Johnson got out, the machine shutting down behind him.

Keyes and Chief were looking at him askance. "Johnson…how do you feel?" Keyes asked tentatively. "You were in there for twenty minutes."

Johnson looked at them askance. "I was only in there for thirty seconds, jerkwads. Don't try playing tricks on me."

He walked away, and Chief and Linda looked at Keyes' chronometer. It measured Keyes' statement as accurate.


	18. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen, Part One

The _Pillar of Autumn 2_, one of the new _Ares_-class Battleships, came out of warp space at the forefront of a vast vanguard, virtually a thousand vessels in total. At Commodore Cole's command all ships deployed to combat positions, destroyers cloaking and taking positions on the edges of the formation, the heavier ships from the Miranda-class BCs on up to the first and only _Autumn 2_ taking the center. Jericho V beckoned to their sensors, and a massive Covenant armada waited for them as well.

Jacob Keyes sat in CIC, stroking the arms of the captain's chair with a gentle graze, belying the inner tension he felt. This was the first major combat against the Covenant that the UNSC was actively pursuing, and his ship was the flagship for this endeavor. He looked askance at Commodore Cole in a hastily-installed chair next to his, watching the Commodore's concerned face through the transparent plate of his armored vac-suit's visor as he scanned the relevant tactical data. He didn't seem to be too concerned at all, even though the Covenant, with their 1700 ships, still outnumbered them two to one.

"Covenant ships at the edge of our deployment sphere, sir," he heard Weapons say, and he wasn't sure whether he spoke to Cole or himself.

"Fantastic," he heard Cole say in a dry sardonic voice, and Keyes inadvertently gulped. That voice was the sound of either a man who knew what he was doing or that of an utter fool. Keyes still remembered in his dreams the short massacre at Harvest, and the sound of his own ship being melted apart effortlessly around him.

"Sir," he said, glancing at the Commodore sideways, "what's the plan?"

"Well," Cole smiled at the nervous Captain, "our new ACIPBMs will be deployed here, at their center. They're clustered in orbit, waiting for us, sure of their success. What they don't know is the intel they need." He raised his voice. "Signal the Potemkin and other Miranda and Valiant-classes, and tell them to fire all IPBMs with the special "modifications."

_Modifications?_ Keyes thought in a daze as Cole said calmly, "Fire."

The flame of thousands of missiles leaped out from the fleet's periphery at the Covenant ships, and they moved forward eager to blast them out of the heavens. Cole then said, "Initiate," and the missiles vanished, only to reappear right on top of the unaware fleet. Their shields struck dead-on by the power of the prototype Anti-Covenant IPBMs, they soon fell, unable to withstand the fury of multiple focused multi-gigaton detonations. Hulls burned and melted, and their center formation reeled in shock, debris and burnt bodies flying through the ether.

Keyes gaped. "How—"

Cole smiled again, calmly. "A surprise, Captain, one of the benefits of our friendship with the Colonials. Move the center forward, and begin standard anti-fighter deployment. I expect we shall have company soon."

At that moment, Sensors shouted, "Sir, we've got Covenant fighters, and unknown signatures! Looks like boarding craft, and lots of them!"

Keyes smiled at last. This was truly a foolish move. "Inform our Spartans that we've got company."

Master Chief loaded the last of his weapons, checked his left and right plasma cannons, and then stepped out of the armory, Linda Murphy and his new team following. Though of different generations, they still felt the siren call of brotherhood that all Spartans shared, a pact written in their very DNA. They were predators, and here was their call of duty.

They split into their groups, until only of the thirty only he, Linda and Murphy were left. Linda was in her Scout / Sniper suit, in her element, focused on the kill. She was armed with a built-in cloaking device, a .50 Gauss pistol firing explosive armor-piercing rounds, her sniper rifle, an M41A Pulse Rifle Carbine on her back, and her baton just in case. Murphy was in a CQC suit, armed with a low-yield rocket launcher slung on his back, a Gauss Rifle in his hands, a Spartan Laser auto-tracking on his right shoulder, and a monomol baton as well. Chief was in his Omicron Vacuum suit, his two plasma cannons armed, a Gauss Rifle on his hands, twin Gauss SMGs on his hips, a few satchel charges, and a monomol baton as well. By this time all Spartans carried them, just in case.

The massive kilometer-long Area-class Battleship occasionally shook with the vibration of a weapons impact on the shields, and Chief found himself slowly relaxing into what he called his battle trance. The world slowed, and when they found the hull blown out and a spiked ship with landing gear inside of the hole, he moved with his team. Linda moved backwards, out of the sight of the Covenant, while Murphy and John opened fire with their Gauss Rifles immediately. The massive hypersonic DU slugs tore through the Elites and grunts, splashing the walls and floor with their blood and tearing bodies in half effortlessly. Intensifying his magnetic grip on the floor, the Spartans moved forward quickly, throwing a few of his satchel charges deep into the dropship. The explosion was followed by the roar of escaping air, which was soon stopped by ship-generated force fields.

They continued, and Chief flicked Cortana on to listen to the Covenant data network. "Their network is in a mess," she told Chief as they slaughtered their way forward. "They're meeting teams of Marines and Spartans all over the ship, and getting held back. They're apparently not used to losing."

Chief slashed downward with his baton, cutting an Elite in half before he could draw a cylinder of some kind, and they moved on. "Neither am I," he said tonelessly, referring to Cortana's comment about losing. He motioned to Murphy and Linda, who pulled aside. "Next dropship we find, we're going into it." They nodded, and followed.

Another boarding ship rammed, and Linda fired six shots in rapid succession, pausing only to reload. After the seven were killed by those, they quickly dove into the hole made, firing their weapons and killing the crew on the pod, Grunts and Jackals mainly, if they remembered their databases IDs correctly. This was the first time outside of an autopsy table Chief had seen the two species, and looked them over thoroughly for about a minute. Vicious creatures, from what he had heard, and even the Grunts were savage when cornered, lighting plasma grenades and committing suicide, taking UNSC and (from the hacked Covenant reports) Zerg with then if surrounded.

Chief looked up, finding Linda already in the Covenant version of a cockpit. "Any luck?" he asked.

Linda jerked her head sideways. "No. It'll take me a few minutes."

"Load your AI," and Linda did so quickly. Jericho's Flame, a burning pile maggots for an avatar, popped up. "Can you operate this thing?" Linda asked. The lump pulsated twice. "Good. Set it to go back to its original ship, broadcasting wounded warriors on it. Then set the reactors to overload the second it land back in its docking bay. Can you do that?" Jericho's Glory pulsed again for positive confirmation. "Good. Do it." The blod quivered, then pulsed, rasping, "It's done."

Linda pulled the AI out of the cockpit and ran, the Chief behind her. Murphy pulled them out quickly, then they ran away, vacuum tearing at their feet as the boarding pod went back to its destination. "What did you do?" Murphy yelled.

"Sent it home with a little surprise. Hopefully it works." Chief smiled at Linda's words, then motioned them forward. The force fields had finally stopped air leakage, so they moved forward again.

They almost flew down the stairway to the lower level, weapons extended. A pack of Grunts and Jackals awaited them, with a crimson Elite barking orders in its strange guttural tongue. The Elite howled at their entrance, and the Spartans opened fire, moving faster than the Covenant's plasma bolts could target them. Several rounds from Chief's Gauss rifle turned the upper half of the Elite into chunky paste, and the Grunts and Jackals were turned in thin mist by Murphy's Spartan Laser and Linda's sniper rifle. They moved across the floor, slippery with body parts and blood.

They found themselves in a few minutes descending again, this time into one of the three main hangar bays of the Battleship, where inside was raging a battle between UNSC personnel and massive troop transports full of Covenant troops. Two of the transports had had their under-mounted plasma guns shot out, and were partial burning wrecks already. As Chief watched, an HVM round from a Hyperkinetic Launcher broke through a crumbled forward section of hull and tore out the entire front half, shattering and killing many underneath the transport's falling crumbling mass.

The three moved quickly, charging into the fray. Murphy took his rocket launcher and fired several rounds, taking out clusters of Elites and lesser troops with massive detonations of flame and blood. A pack of over six Hunters moved to target him, but Chief moved forward into close range, closer than their guns would fire, his baton out and flick-flicking. One Hunter lifted its massive weapon-clad arm, ready to smash the Chief's skull, but he moved into a blur, striking underneath where the Hunter's vulnerable flesh was. Strike One; the others were equally slow. The Hunters soon fell to the floor in pieces, armor and worm-flesh sliced through with equal ease.

The Covenant, though outnumbered now with more Spartans flooding into the bay, never surrendered; not surprising, considering their fanatical nature. The Spartans proved to be vulnerable as well, Murphy nearly getting cut in half by an Elite plasma sword before said Elite died, instead merely suffering from a horrific slash across his torso. Chief, his rifle out, was firing his SMGs into the Grunts that were left, when a terrific blow smashed across his back, picking him up and throwing him into the air. Chief turned in mid-flight, seeing the Elite as he landed on his feet, and grabbed his baton as his SMGs had been flung out of his hands. The Elite snarled an alien battle cry, mandibles gnashing, firing up his own plasma sword, then the two charged.

Within seconds Chief knew the crimson-clad Elite was good, very good. A veteran, the Elite had already learned of the deadliness of the Spartan's batons, and the two ducked and weaved around each other for several minutes. Finally getting in close, the Spartan managed a grazing blow, making the Elite's shields flicker to virtually nothing, but merely enraging the Elite further. The Elite swung again, then toppled over, the top of its head missing. Linda stood by, her rifle reloaded and ready. Chief gave a smile in their battle signs, and she smiled back, moving on to another target.

Finally, the battle was over, and the remaining Covenant who weren't wounded and taken for interrogation were killed. Chief stood in the splattered pile of bodies. "Spartan-117 to the Bridge," he reported. "Enemy assets repulsed, some captured. Hostiles eliminated."

Captain Keyes' voice broke out in Chief's hearing. "Good job, Master Chief. Stay in the hangar bay, and get a brace of ODST pods ready. The battle up here's almost over, and we'll be in range for a rapid drop within twelve minutes."

"Understood. Spartan-117 out." Chief turned to Linda and Murphy, who was getting his wound bandaged up. "Murphy, are you capable of fighting?"

Murphy looked up, tired but not defeated. "Yes, sir. I can get another suit going and get back here in time."

Chief nodded. "Good. Linda, Get the Spartans here. We're going down."

Chapter Fifteen, Part Two

Pillar of Autumn II, CIC

30 minutes earlier

Captain Keyes braced against his command chair as the Covenant fighters raced toward their position. "Launch all reserve fighters, get all point defense turrets operational, and activate the PBC Cannons."

"Aye sir. Covenant lead ships entering outer probability range for firing solutions, sir."

Keyes smiled. The PBC Cannons, of which the _Autumn II_ had ten of, were the next-gen descendants of the Terran Dominion's most fearsome weapon, the Yamato Cannon. Essentially at its heart a particle beam generated from the fires of a tactical nuclear warheads detonation inside a hardened chamber inside the ship, the PBC Cannons were its descendents. Because of the immense size and internal volume of the Ares-class battleship, over one kilometer long, and the fact that it's powered by one Heavy Fusion reactor and two of the new Matter / Antimatter reactors in service, the Autumn II packed ten of these wonder-weapons, with less than half the recharge time needed from the Yamato's.

With the ACIPBMs having been used in such a surprising tactical move in one blow, Keyes was forced to work with what he had. The plan was simple: Cole would coordinate the fighter assaults against the Covenant fighters, while Keyes would focus on coordinating the capital ship engagement. And PBCs were his secret weapon. "Alert all other ships with PBCs to warm them up and get their butts to the front of the assault line," Keyes ordered. "I want one simultaneous salvo, and fleet datalink to coordinate and make sure no unnecessary gaps occur in our lines."

"Yes sir…all ships report ready, and three Archangel-class Carriers have entered the final engagement perimeter."

"You may fire when ready, Weapons."

At less than 300,000 kilometers, over 170 separate beams of ship-killing death lanced out, traveling at a percentage of light-speed so close it effectively didn't matter. Approximately one second later 135 Covenant ships were cored from front to the rear, rupturing and detonating, the shrapnel of their own violent deaths causing the failure and deaths of others in the Covenant fleet. Their formation shattered, the Covenant ships abruptly reversed course, breaking up into smaller groups. Keyes smirked. "where the hell do they think they're going?" he murmured, then suddenly chaos was upon his ships, as the Covenant initiated a short-range FTL jump of their own, and ended up ship-to-ship in the center of Keyes and Cole's own fleet!

At such close ranges, less than 1000 kilometers between ships on average, weapons accuracy didn't matter. Without order, both the Covenant and UNSC opened fire on each other with everything they had, even their point defense weapons scoring massive wounds in the flanks of each group's vessels. Keyes stood up, then abruptly fell down as his shuddered from the blows of multiple of those dreaded Covenant plasma beams. "All weapons, fire at will!" he snarled, crawling back into his seat. "PBCs, engage as fast as you can charge 'em. All ships, deploy all available BPXRL Satellites now!"

BPXRL stood for Bomp-Pumped X-Ray Laser. These satellites held ultra-massive 500-megaton fusion warheads, which at detonation were focused with nano-second precision into beam of death less than a human torso wide. Designed as long-term anti-Covenant weapons to be seeded in the wake of abandoned worlds, Keyes' deployment of them now in such a mixed ruckus was desperate.

As a rule of UNSC ship deployment, every vessel from a destroyer on up to the largest Assault Carrier carried these satellites, and over 3000 of these non-mobile devices were dumped from empty cargo and activated en masse. And a problem was rapidly discerned; BPXRL satellites did not have sophisticated sensor packages to not fire if a UNSC or otherwise friendly ship was between them and their target. Thus, with the activation of over 3000 of these devices, all of the Covenant attack groups that had jumped in died in flaming death, but so did many UNSC vessels that aside from that had received minimal damage.

Keyes looked agasp at the havoc his orders had caused, and what had happened instantly occurred to him. Next to him, Commodore Cole sighed, "Oh my." There was nothing else to be said.

In the dying fires and rupturing of dead and dying wreckages, Weapons spoke quietly. "Sir, sensors report the Covenant warping out, aside from a small force still defending the ship over their encampment. We're mopping up the last of their fighter deployment now."

Keyes nodded. "Very well," he rasped. There was no way he could have known, but that didn't make him feel any better.

Cole walked up to him, putting his hand on his shoulder. "There was no way you could have known."

Keyes sagged into his chair, knowing that his dreams would be nightmares for many long nights to come. "I guess so," he said, not believing a word of it. From the chair's speaker and the bridge intercoms emitted Spartan-117's suddenly, and Keyes smiled however briefly. He thumbed the transmitter in his chair. "Good job, Master Chief. Stay in the hangar bay, and get a brace of ODST pods ready. The battle up here's almost over, and we'll be in range for a rapid drop within twelve minutes."

"Yes sir." The connection died out.

Keyes turned to the rest of the crew, many still in shock from the sheer violence of what had just occurred. "Let's get going, people, we have Spartans to deploy."

The Spartans, all 27 of them (two had died, one was grievously wounded), were in the hangar bay's side ROD Pod room fully deployed by the time their twelve minute wait was over. At Chief's insistence, all of them who had been carrying rocket launchers switched out with the Marine dead for hyperkinetic launchers, as Chief had a sudden feeling that things would be much worse on the ground than they had been here.

"All parties, prepare for ROD Pod deployment," a male voice echoes in the chamber.

Linda stood up, her gear in place. "Alright, let's go," she said firmly, and the Spartans filed out into their individual drop pods. Called ROD Pods for Rapid Orbital Deployment, they were normally used by ODSTs, but were being used in this case by Spartans for as fast a drop down as possible. Chief was equipped with his Gauss Rifle, twin Gauss SMGs and monomol baton had also acquired one of the M41B Pulse Rifle Carbines, and that was magnetically adhered onto his back for easy carrying. His special package was reserved for later.

He put his hand on Linda's shoulder, squeezed briefly, then got into his own pod. Cortana spoke up. "Aw, such a softie, Chief."

"I'll see her again after work." Chief stowed his Gauss Rifle and Pulse Rifle Carbine, the rest secure enough on his body. He lowered the massive Neosteel door, and heard it clang and lock shut on the outside, then felt the pod slowly lower into its drop cradle.

He activated his link to the link and heard Captain Keyes say, "Where's out target?"

"The enemy ship is right over the city on the equator, sir. We're to pass right over it."

"Perfect. Given what we know about the Rings and about this, it's even more important that we capture or destroy the artifact and find out what it means, whether it represents a threat to Earth and to mankind. Chief, take your Spartans down…hard drop. Secure a landing zone, then move out. Lieutenant Johnson will load up four flights of Pelicans and follow you in. They'll be your reinforcements for holding the territory you cleanse. We can''t risk attacking the ship directly as the crystal could already be inside the ship, so once you land you're on your own."

"Understood."

Tactical spoke up over the Bridge link. "Over the target in 5—"

The Master Chief closed the link. "Hold onto your helmet," Cortana quipped, then Chief felt his stomach slam into the bottom of his throat as they plunged downward at incredible speeds, rocketing into the atmosphere. Chief, his sensors tied to the external sensors on the outside, sensed through them the drastic increase in temperature on the outside metal alloy right before the sensors burned off.

Cortana said, "Mind the bump," and seconds later the parachutes deployed. In a way, her quips were giving him an idea of what was going on. They had reached the lower layers of the atmosphere, and were decelerating incredibly fast, to prepare for their arrival on the ground. The shock harness he was in swelled, then there was a massive jar, he pulled the manual lever and blew the door out, and he grabbed his weapons, looking around him to get his bearings.

He was on a flattened pile of rubble, the remains of several apartments it seemed. He seemed partway underneath the Covenant ship somehow, probably closer to the site than the others. He could see the massive ship looming overhead and the occasional whine of distant air patrols of their atmospheric fighters, but nothing nearby it seemed. Chief readied his Gauss Rifle, whispering, "Cortana, can you hear anything from those air patrols?"

"Give me a moment to access…they're jubilant. They've been ordered to retreat, no, head back to the ship. They've found what they sought, and they're departing within the hour!"

Chief's nerves were that of taut steel wire, and when he heard a faitn rustle he spun around, weapon aimed. Murphy quickly dived out of the way, and the two looked at each other. "Sorry," Chief signed. "No worries," Murphy signed back.

Linda soon joined them on their visible position, and other Spartans homed in on Cortana's signals for rendezvous. Chief spotted a likely place to deploy his present to the Covenant: a tall jagged remnant of a skyscraper, partly standing. He motioned to the two of them to stay, he then moved quickly, striking the remnants of the skyscraper's internal staircase as fast as he could. He came to the top, and could see for miles the devastation wrought by the alien invaders, a bleak harsh landscape. Any sign of human habitation or intact structures was gone.

Cortana's message had finally allowed Chief to deploy his secret weapon: a 50-kiloton nuclear device, dubbed the Messenger. A special request on John's part, he had requested it for use by Spartans in situations where more available weapons couldn't be used, yet conventional weapons weren't enough. That request had been granted, and Chief was now going to put the device to use, in a way only a Spartan could.

The casing was roughly aerodynamic, in the approximate shape of an enlarged football. Chief set the timer for 15 seconds until detonation, aimed carefully, then with every erg of strength and accuracy he possessed threw it. The bomb arced high and far, landing smack dab where the excavation site was, right underneath the cruiser. The detonation blotted out the sky in white light, and Chief as he jumped from the staircase toward the ground below activated his antigrav jetpack, lowering himself to the ground. He made it about 20 meters above the ground when the remnants of the shock wave hit, a blast of air that sent him smashing through the skyscraper's remains and causing it to begin collapse. He managed to get to the bottom and start running as the building imploded behind him.

Linda and Murphy walked up to him. By now, the rest of their strength had been fully gathered. "What was that?"

"A 50-kiloton nuke," he replied deadpan.

"Oh, so that's what you were carrying," Murphy said sarcastically.

"Yep. Let's go; the center of the enemy resistance should have been cracked by that, if Cortana was right."

"Of course I was right," said the AI. "In fact, their network's clearing up from the EM interference, and they're PISSED. We should get moving."

"Agreed. Spartans," and Chief waved his team forward towards the enemy grav-lift. "Forward."

Chapter Fifteen, Part Three

The mining site had only a vague resemblance of order before the nuclear device had literally been thrown into it; now there was none. The methane tents for the Grunts and living quarters for the Brute overseers had been on the periphery of the main digging area, and had been merely set alight instead of totally vaporized, sending huge plumes of smoke and gas torches into the air, obscuring their target.

Chief noticed the smoke from the field rather quickly, and also noted that he could still see on magnification the pale purple shimmer of the ship's grav-lift, still in operation. "What are the Covenant doing now, Cortana?"

"They seem to be preparing more troops to send down the lift and re-secure the site. They know about the radiation, but they don't care," Cortana said disbelievingly.

"I'm not surprised," Murphy said next to the Chief. "They don't seem to have a high regard for life at all."

"Murphy, I want you to lead your team northeast of the grav-lift, while Linda's team will go around and converge from the west. My team will come at it straight from the south. If you find any Covenant stragglers that survived, take them out."

"Aye sir." Linda patted him on the arm, and Chief and Linda moved their separate ways, leaving Murphy in charge of his group. "Alright, men, let's go."

Murphy's team was the one with the majority of the hyper-kinetic launchers, and had been designed the "Heavy Weapons" aspect of the team. In addition, three of his team had shoulder-mounted flechette launchers, and the other possessed shoulder-mounted strafing laser packs. Even loaded with such heavy weapons, they made quick time, clambering over the fracturing glass that was the former site.

In about thirty minutes they had gone clear around to their area of the blast crater, and Murphy paused. "Ebony, any chance you've picked anything up?"

Murphy's AI responded. "The Covenant are deploying more ground troops. The Elites have been deployed in special armor, while the Brutes according to the sarcasm I'm picking up are apparently radiation sponges."

"Great." In the distance he heard the hypersonic crack of Linda's 20mm sniper rifle going off, the multiple sounds as her Spartans joined in combat. "Oh great, they've got something to fight first," he complained. Not that he minded. "All right, Spartans," he called. "Double time!" They moved twice as fast, sprinting at over 50 kilometers per hour on unsteady terrain at the tope of the ridge, opposite of Linda's group and the grav-lift. Murphy was looking for a way to get around the rocky outcropping that blocked their way when they halted as the ground, fractured even worse than usual, exploded upwards, and the team was sent sprawling.

Murphy, from his new position on the ground, looked up, and up, and up. The robotic vehicle was immense, taller than any Covenant vehicle yet seen. It possessed six articulated legs wider than a Warthog each, and on its main body over 20 meters off the ground bristled small weapons. Due to the angle, he couldn't see the top, but he doubted it was unarmed there.

Murphy dived aside as the massive behemoth's bristled hide opened up on the scattered, laser and enlarged plasma cannons shooting in all directions. Murphy moved to the right as one of the creature's massive legs came down where he had jumped previously, and while he ran he opened up the comm link in his suit. "117, do you read me?" he shouted, as the massive creature roared loudly as it moved above his head.

"117 here. What's the situation?"

"We're on the other side of the ridge, and we're being attacked by some new kind of Covenant vehicle. Is there any data on this thing?"

Cortana's voice broke over the link. "Give me a second…larger than a tank?"

"Very!"

"Unstoppable death machine, none of your weapons work on it?"

"I doubt they will!" He jumped aside again; this was ridiculous!

"Oh yeah, it's a Covenant Scarab. They use them as mass digging vehicles as well as massive siege weapons, and they should be capable of one-shotting one of our Thunder-class Assault tanks in one shot, assuming the unshielded version. There were two here at the site from what their network is saying, I guess you found one that wasn't entirely broken by the blast."

"What primary weapon?" Murphy said dumbly, then his question was answered by a tremendous blast of light over his head, and most of the rock ridge being atomized as a result, spraying shrapnel everywhere. Murphy devoted more suit power to his shields, then cursed. "Goddamnit!" He changed frequencies. "All members of Heavy Weapons, pull back from the Scarab! Meet up at the next ridge, coordinates alpha-zulu-114!"

He moved out as fast as possible. The Scarab, still pulling itself out of the ground, did not give chase. Murphy dived behind the next rock outcropping, and several members of his team were already there. "Rajh and Fred?" The rest shook their heads, and Murphy's head ducked down; they'd been his friends back in training. "Damnit. Okay, we're going to have to use our HKLs on this thing, as it's too big for our conventional weapons. Everybody got theirs?" Nods. "Lock and load, then." Murphy prepped his as the others did the same; the barrel was capable of holding three harpoon at once, and he locked everything into place. Once they were ready, Murphy looked at them. "Alright, here's what we're doing. We're going to walk out in the open, dodge the smaller fire from its auxiliary weapons but remain in one group. When it primes its primary weapon, we're going to fire at the emitter in the front. I can't see even a Covenant weapon resisting multiple HKLs to its face."

"I hope you're right," one of them mumbled.

"Of course I am," Murphy said with a forced cheerfulness. A massive blast of sound like a wounded beast erupted behind the rock outcropping, and Murphy winced. "Looks like it's out of its hole. Let's go." The Spartans moved out as one, their HKLs ready and aimed at the Scarab's emitter. Employing a dance known as "Happy Feet" from their training, they dodged the majority of the smaller weapons shooting their way, absorbing the minority that succeeded in hitting them. Then the Scarab had oriented its maw towards them, and a hideous green light began to build at its entrance. "One two, NOW!" Murphy shouted, and fired two of his loaded harpoons at full power, as did the rest of the Spartans.

At five percent of c the harpoons penetrated the focusing emitter at the front, vaporizing it, and kept going. Without the emitter, the energy focused inside within milliseconds grew beyond containment, and the Spartans were blasted backward over half a kilometer by the close-range multi-kiloton blast, and their over-boosted Protoss shields failed under the onslaught of pseudo-nuclear energies. Up above, a blooming mushroom cloud erupted, flattening against the Covenant carrier's hull.

Murphy stood up shakily. Most of his suit sensors were offline, but his internal nanite repair systems were kicking in at least. "I think…" he coughed, "I think that was bit much."

Master Chief rolled, evading the plasma rifle's bursts of superheated ions with ease. He fired back, the Gauss Rifle's ammo counter dropping to nothing but succeeding in punching through the Elite' face with its last armor-piercing rounds. He toggled the weapons selection with his thoughts to the ammo clip of mono-filament, the last full clip he had, and fired two rounds at rampaging Brutes, another species he had never run into. The mono-filament unfurled in mid-flight as it was supposed to, shredding the Brute into little strips of bloody meat before it even had time to growl. "Cortana, why is it we've never met these "Brutes" until now?"

"Well, according to the Covenant records the Brutes entered the Covenant only a few decades ago. In that time they've been permitted by the Prophets to hold an increasing number of sub-military duties, sort of like military contractors in a way. The Brutes here were the overseers for the dig, so they're gaining respect and authority over the other races rather quickly for the Covenant's tastes. Oh, and they have a grudge with the Elites."

"Interesting," Chief said, dropping two Grunts and another Brute with two more rounds each. In the distance a massive shudder in the earth ripped through the area, and a flash of light. Murphy must have used his HKLs. "Maybe we could exploit that."

"Well, certainly not now," Cortana retorted. "Keep your head down!" she squalled as his shields dropped from a Brute firing several grenades at him. "There's two of us in here, ya know!"

"Right, right," Chief muttered, smashing the Brute's face into pulp with one swipe of his fist. "Sorry if I'm working here." Whatever Cortana was going to say Chief spoke above her, to the other Spartans. The latest group of Covenant troops from the ship had largely been taken care of, from the look of it, and they needed to move. Chief could see from his position at the bottom of the grav-lift Linda's group coming down, having finished their sharp-shooting of enemy combatants. A few minutes later, Chief saw Murphy's group, but only five of them.

"What happened?" he asked, as Murphy's group came down.

"Oh, several HKLs at full power. Slight overkill on the Scarab," Murphy said, wincing as he took off his helmet. His face was covered in bruises and several lacerations. "Five of my team didn't make it; we left their bodies together and marked them with beacons for retrieval."

"Good." Linda walked up to them. "We're all set then. Cortana, reverse their grav-lift, if you can."

"That a challenge? Pay up, then," Cortana smirked as the purple rain effect slowed, stopped, then reversed back up into the ship.

"Later. Assemble everybody; let's go."

The group of thirty Spartans, after collecting a few of the higher-power Covenant weapons like Fuel Rod Guns and some Needlers, assembled on the upraised grav pad. Slowly, but with increasing speed the remainder of the Spartans shot up into the air, where the metal ring folded backwards and they were pulled into a massive central chamber scattered with large cargo containers. Cortana spoke up. "We're in. I've got a good lock on the crystal's transmissions…No Covenant defenses detected."

Murphy snorted. "What? There's no Covenant here. Think maybe nobody's home?"

Suddenly, the doors on both sides of the room opened, and Covenant troops, led by Elites and a few Hunters, began pouring into the chamber. Murphy and his men loaded their HKLs, set them to half power, and blew the doors and the troops coming through into molten shrapnel. Cortana yelled in Chief's helmet, "Contact, lots of contact!"

Chief smirked in his helmet as he took up defensive positions. "No Covenant. You just had to open your big mouth, didn't you?"

Murphy scowled, taking his Gauss Rifle and covering the blasted doorway. "Hey, what did you—" He never finished his sentence, as a plasma sword lit, held in mid-air by nothingness, and slashed his suit in half. Diluted acid blood spilled all over the floor, and Linda and Chief peppered the entire area instantly with dozens of high-powered rounds. Out of thin air an Elite emerged, wearing a lighter version of his normal battlefield armor. The Elite fell over, clearly dead, but Murphy wasn't doing much better.

Murphy's suit had automatically engaged in lockdown measures, preventing him from bleeding to death and engaging in standard cryogenic measures, but he had been cut in half at the waist, a rather severe injury even by 25th-Century standards. The nanobots in his bloodstream and in his suit could keep him alive for about 36 hours at minimal levels of hibernation, but after that he would need to get dedicated care on a UNSC medical transport or a UNSC orbital.

Chief moved to Murphy's side while the Spartans finished deploying into a defensive perimeter. Murphy's eyes were already on the edge of unconsciousness, but John grabbed Murphy's gauntlet, squeezing it so he would feel it in his torpored state. "You'll feel better when you wake up, kid."

"Smart…ass…" Murphy breathed silently. His swollen face grinned just a fraction. "Hate…the…invisible ones…" His eyes rolled up into sleep.

Chief stood up. "Cortana, here you go." He raised his hand, and a small avatar of Cortana leaped from his palm into the Covenant network, electric fizzing and all. Her voice echoed from the room's intercom chamber. "Well, this feels odd. I'm transmitting coordinates to the crystal's holding chamber, and…oh, no."

Chief recognized when something had just happened, and this was one of them. Imperceptibly, unnoticed by any of the Spartans there, the floor underneath their feet vibrated ever so subtly on a different wavelength. "What's wrong?"

Cortana's voice echoed over the network in distress. "This carrier, the _Truth and Reconciliation_ it's called, has gone FTL back to Covenant space. It's going to take me a bit to figure out the geodesics of their drive, but for the next while we're totally cut off from reinforcements. We're on our own out here."

Chief's grip on his weapon tightened. "Then it's plan C, then."

Linda turned to him. "Plan C?"

Chief looked around the room. "Yep. Take over the ship."

Chapter Fifteen, Part Four

Jericho V orbit, _Pillar of Autumn II_

Same time

Captain Keyes was monitoring in person the screen showing the progress of the fight down below. Johnson had left with his flight of Pelicans and reserve troops and were rendezvousing with the IDs for the drop pods. From there, they'd make their way to the Spartans and act as backup if needed.

"Sir, Lieutenant Johnson is opening up a video and audio link to here."

"Patch him through."

Johnson's grizzled visage showed through the monitor, as he hadn't had time to groom himself for the past few days in getting his troops later. "How's the situation down there Lieutenant?"

Johnson spat on the ground, wiping his face with a handkerchief. It was clear even from the grainy footage that the air was horrific. "Bad, sir. The Spartans slashed down all over the perimeter of the city on the south side, and my team's picked reports of radiation from the central crater. Looks like the Chief used his present."

"I'm not surprised," Keyes grinned. Chief had been carrying the Messenger tac-nuke on his orders, just in case mind you. "Is it within tolerable level,s Johnson?"

"Mostly sir. We'll take some anti-rad pills before we continue in, but—holy shit!"

"Johnson! Report!" Keyes barked, and Johnson merely tilted up the camera quickly. The Covenant carrier was FTLing out in atmo, a massive white portal appearing on the bow of the ship. "Fire all PBCs on the rear of that ship, try and disable their engines," Keyes ordered, but only three had fired, penetrating the ship's shields and heavily damaging their rear before the ship completely vanished. "Damnit," Keyes sighed. "Johnson, your men all right?"

"Just peachy sir," Johnson coughed from the hurricane of dust and filth that had been thrown by the abrupt weapons release. "The ship was in the way and blocked most of it, but try and warn us next time."

"Will do Lieutenant. Secure the drop site and check out the grav lift area, see if there's any clues as to what happened."

"Yes sir." Johnson's image flickered out, replaced by Jericho V's dirty visage below.

When Johnson got back the two immediately discussed it with Commodore Cole in the main conference room near the bridge. "It's a mess sir," Johnson grunted. "The Spartans were scattered all over the city, and they seem to have rendezvoused then proceeded towards the digging site. They split into three groups, one an assault squad, one sharpshooters and one heavy weapons. Heavy Weapons ran into a Covenant Scarab, rare but very nasty when you're not prepared for it. Apparently it had been damaged by Chief's nuke, but it had begun self-repairs. We've secured the remains for analysis, but there wasn't much left. Apparently Heavy Weapons used HKLs on it at full power, over a dozen rods at least."

"Damn," Keyes sighed. "Continue."

"Yes sir. The sharpshooters were occupied with targeting the Covenant coming doan from the grav lift; there's whole piles of Covenant bodies by the lift itself, sir. The assault squad closed in right on the lift, and cleared out any survivors. After that they left through the grav lift, probably used one of their AIs as planned to reverse its movement. God only knows what's going on inside."

Chief dragged Murphy's upper half behind him as the Spartans moved into the closed compartment. The Covenant troops had been temporarily blocked by their satchel charges rigged anti-personnel mines, but Chief knew that they would soon have to make their move on the bridge itself. Cortana was learning the internal intricacies of their computer cyctems, and while the Covenant possessed no AIs they have sophisticated software and the "home advantage," as it were.

Once all of the Spartans were in the room the doors closed and locked it seemed automatically. "Cortana, have you found the location of the bridge yet?"

"…Yeah. I've marked it for your convenience as nav markers on your HUDs, and I'm transmitting them to all of the Spartans as well."

"Good. Would it be possible for you to lock this room down when we make our move?"

"Sure, why?"

"We need a place to leave Murphy and our supplies, at least until we have control of the ship."

"This compartment would work," Cortana said thoughtfully. "It'll do."

"Good. Spartans, leave all that you can behind, excepting medical kits and your ammo. We'll come back here once we've gained control." The team moved with a purpose, and they continued much faster than they had before, rushing with haste towards the Bridge. They followed winding corridors and the occasional open area, slaughtering everything in their way with a minimum of ammunition wasted to conserve on supplies.

They came to a massive hangar bay, according to Cortana one of two on the ship. It had three levels, which after they killed everything on the first levels Chief shortcut by using his jetpacks and ferrying Spartans two at a time with them to the top. They couldn't afford to waste any more time, and they moved quickly. They weren't running into as many Grunts as before, and many more Elites, Brutes, and even a noticeable amount of Hunters. The HKLs, set to 10 of their maximum power, used much less energy but still killed Hunters quite adequately, and Chief was seriously thinking of recommending these weapons to replace the rocket launcher entirely.

They ran into several more Elites which were wielding their plasma sword and were cloaked, but the Spartans were aware of them now, and after swiftly disposing of them each Spartan had taken a plasma sword for his own, as Chief had with the first. The baton had been placed in an suit storage slot, for later if they needed it, but the plasma sword it seemed was the only thing that could block a plasma sword; it could even cut through a Hunter's alloyed shields, though not easily.

Then they had made it to the bridge. They checked their weapons and moved forward, Linda's team of sharpshooters first. With a single rush they emerged into one massive room, with an upraised center with holographic controls. There were several Elites as well as hat seemed to be a Prophet, a species which the Spartans had never seen before either. With a single massive blast all of the people in the room were killed save the Prophet, who was put down with a paralytic dart from Chief's Gauss Rifle. The team quickly moved to secure the Bridge, and Chief quickly looked at the controls. "Chief, press the blue triangle on the far right and the green circle at the same time. That'll shut down the security programs which have been hindering my progress."

"Understood." With a flick of his palms on them the two symbols flickered and vanished, and he heard Cortana's sighed. "You sure know how to make a woman feel good, Chief. I'll take it from here." A strange subsonic vibration emitted from the wallspeakers, and Chief asked what that was for. "I'm relocating all of the Engineers on this ship, more than usual, to secure rooms. They're non-hostile, and only want to repair and improve the machines they run into. I think they'll come in handy."

"As long as they're not a nuisance, fine. You may purge the ship when ready."

"Yes sir," Cortana said sarcastically. "Oh wait…"

"Yes?"

"It seems our esteemed captain Keyes managed to cripple two of the ship's three primary reactors. I'm taking us out of Slipspace in about thirty seconds, in an uninhabited system on the Covenant charts. I'll purge there."

"Slipspace?"

"Oh yeah, that's their FTL mode of travel. Apparently the ships pull space apart at the quantum level and can sort of "squeeze" through the rents in space left. Though I'm really using the wrong terminology; this ship's FTL is incredibly advanced."

"Acceptable." Chief felt the transition to realspace this time, and asked, "Is this Slipspace better than our warp drive?"

"Actually no, it's about an order of magnitude slower, but it does present some interesting tactical options, as we've seen. I'm purging the ship now."

"Proceed." The plan to commandeer the ship had been extremely simple yet brutal all at once: Cortana, once she control over the ship's primary systems including life support, would, excluding certain compartments in the ship like the Bridge, pump almost all of the atmosphere into the ship's atmospheric reservoirs, than vent all rooms and hallways to space with what the Grunt's methane atmosphere and was left. This approach would simultaneously kill every living organism on the ship, as well as flushing all of the bodies into space, preventing from cleaning up the mess afterwards.

It was about three minutes later that Cortana said, "Done. All hostiles have been eliminated. I've pumped the atmosphere back into the rooms and hallways of the ship, and released the Engineers back to their duties. It might be a good idea to get Murphy and our supplies up here."

"Good idea." Chief sent Linda and several Spartans as guards to retrieve the equipment, then turned back to the AI, whom he'd uploaded into the ship. Her blue AI avatar stood aside him now, looking at a Covenant representation of the Milky Way, modified with UNSC English. "So, can you find us a way back home?"

"Possibly. We're going to have to hurry, this system borders incredibly close to Protoss space, and given their psionic abilities I don't want – oh hell," she cursed.

"What's going on?" Chief demanded.

Cortana waved her hand, and an image of a massive golden ship appeared on the edge of the system. "Warp drive for FTL, really advanced, I spoke too soon," Cortana said cheerfully. "The Protoss are here after all, and with this ship I imagine they want to blow us out of the sky right now."

"Then I guess we'll have to change their perception of us," Chief said, noticing that Linda and the others had come back. He took off his helmet. "Contact them if you can. I'll see if we can get out of this yet."


	19. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen, Part One

Protoss Carrier _Gerleta_

Same time

Praetor Artanis, the current leader of the Protoss Carrier Gelerta, had been in an apprehensive mood in the hours before they had detected the anomalous readings. A powerful leader, Artanis held sway over his vessel with an iron fist wrapped in velvet, a gentle touch with a core of metal. However, this relentless patrolling of the Protoss' borders, the Dae'ul's bounds itself, was relentless in its monotony, and even Artanis' meditation rituals had given him little harmony.

Artanis had been there, several cycles ago, when the Conclave had last assembled in its entirety. The decision had been made to temporarily withdraw from offensive assaults and continue on the defensive, absorbing the Covenant's assaults but not retaliating, building up their fleets in secret in the most secure forges of their best-guarded worlds. But he was aware of a meeting that had taken place on that same summit, a meeting of like-minded individuals whom he had been invited to join, and had.

_Artanis, Executor Xanthar rumbled. You are late._

_My apologies, most high one, Artanis had replied. Four years past, he had been a rising star in the Conclave circle, but had not yet reached the pinnacle of success. Now, he was almost there._

_Come, Prelate, the Executor rumbled, come inside, and we shall speak in the gardens._

_The gardens of Thessio were renowned for their purity of light and sprinkling waters. I would be honored, Artanis bowed._

_The two continued deep into the temple complex, ancient armored statues and living walls all around them. The planet of Thessio was one of the Protoss' most ancient and treasured worlds, barring Aiur itself of course. Eventually the center of the temple, deep underground, was reached, and the living doors pulled aside under their mind's request. Artanis knew the others there already: Klios, the Steward of the Armies of the Protoss; Aranoch, the Praetor of Aiur's Light itself; and Zeratul, the representative, ancient and respected, of the Dark Templar, their long-separated kin._

_They all kneeled on woven cushions, and began. All of them sat and touched finger to finger delicately, the circle slowly intermingling the relevant thoughts and sensations to their various problems. From Zeratul's mind came news of the Hunters, and of a new race called the Zerg which the Hunters…hunted, for trophies and glory. The Zerg harassed the Covenant on the far galaxy's shores, and the Conclave was most curious as to these beasts. Zeratul's chest brought…physical…evidence, of their ilk._

_Under Klios' mind emerged the statistics of the Fleets around the Protoss hegemony, and of the innumerable armies of which he was the Great Dae'uhl himself. They were ready as well. From Aranoch were revealed the Conclave's innermost comings and goings, as Aiur's Light was the elite defense force responsible for escorting their august members to and fro their needs and duties._

_And word came, at last, from Aranoch's mind, of their renewed interest in the Psi Emitter project, and indeed was almost finished. Indeed, the defensive front soon to begin would be used to funnel the resources needed to finish the Psi Emitter prototypes, and then to create a new variety of cloaked vessel, based off Dark Templar and Hunter designs, to escort these devices to their targets._

_They soon finished, and Artanis returned to his duties as Executor Ahonter's aide. His time would come, and their victory over the dreaded Covenant barbarians would be sweet._

Artanis shook his head, muttering his mantra of dedication to the cause. The Khala supported his every thought, anchored his soul, as it did his crew's thoughts and emotions now as well. His was a disciplined but not harshly-run vessel; his crew would function less efficiently if he allowed his nervousness to continue. "Has any sign of our contact emerged," he inquired cautiously.

"Not yet, Praetor. However, there is a large ship coming into our sights."

"Is it our quarry?" Artanis rumbled.

"No sir..Covenant cruiser, sir. It has gone into solar orbit in the middle of the system."

The Covenant, here, now? By the Xel'Naga, this was too much! "We cannot allow our business here to be disrupted or found out by the Enemy," he ordered. "Stand by on Scouts and Interceptors." His orders rippled through the telepathic chain that was reinforced by their dedication to the Khala, and Artanis pulled all of his considerable power into seeing into the void, to find the thoughts of these Covenant, to find their Purpose. It was a method of intelligence gathering that had worked excellently in the past, as the Covenant Shipmasters seemed to lack any thought of mental discipline aside from that of the kind sought in battle.

His mind reached out across the light-hours…and was shocked to find that of a foreign mind, very different from the Covenant indeed, much like the Protoss' own in fact! "Stand down on my previous order," Artanis nearly shouted but for his inner discipline. "Deploy three fighter squadrons of Scouts and Corsairs, but only as an honor guard, and a show of our strength. Deploy an additional six fighter wings of Scouts with a wing of Observers to keep this system under total surveillance, I don't want anything to get through unnoticed. There is something on that ship, something I have not felt since…" He paused in rumination. There was familiarity in the taste of that mind, but how?

Never mind that. "Open a mental pathway to the ship, and let me speak with those on the Covenant's bridge," he said. Pathways were composed of multiple Templar clearing the psionic ether, allowing long-range psionic communication much easier between separated parties. It would do in this case.

"Yes sir. Channel opening."

Artanis closed his questions, and enfolded his mind in his questions, thrusting them out at the new souls. This should prove interesting.

_Truth and Reconciliation_

Same time

Cortana spoke up. "Chief, there's no response to any of our hailing signals. I'll keep trying."

Chief watched the screen intently, and saw small objects splitting off from the much larger ship, coming towards them it seemed. "Cortana, what is the Protoss vessel launching?"

"Analyzing…they seem to be squadrons of fighters, of two different types. One carries anti-ship antimatter missiles and particle cannons, and the other…neutron flares and a strange EMP weapon that I don't entirely understand how it works."

"Are they moving into attack formation?"

"No…in fact, they're staying with the main ship, like an escort. Wait a minute…several more fighter wings have left the ship, but they're breaking up and leaving, encircling the system."

Whatever she said afterwards, Chief didn't hear it. One moment he was on the _Truth and Reconciliation_'s bridge, and the next he was standing on… "Reach," he whispered. The verdant forests of his youth spread as far as the eye could see, the distant peaks of Mount Bormazo in the distance. He knew where he was: their first night, where they had parachuted naked into these same woods, to show their dedication to the cause, and how they were willing to face death. But then it had been night, and this was most assuredly day, so… "How?" he turned, then reached for his Gauss Rifle.

There was a figure standing amongst the awestruck Spartans, alien in design. It was about 3 meters tall and had two glowing eyes but no mouth on its face. It had reversed double-jointed legs, scaly skin, four digits on its hands and toes, a broad chest and shoulders, and a narrow waist with a slim midsection. Extending back from the crown of its head, it had a bony crest; beneath it, emerging from the back of the head, were long hair-like strings, but much thicker. It wore splendid golden robes with elaborate glyphs on its edges, and Chief could detect the vague hints of armor underneath the robes. Bronze-colored gauntlets protected its arms, a massive upraised helm on its head adding even further to the creature's height probably for intimidation, and in its hands was a massive ornate staff, with three glowing blades sticking out of the top, electricity arcing along their individual blades.

The Spartan noticed all of this in about half a second, the time it took for him and his equally astute fellow Spartans to raise their rifles and point them less than three inches from the perceived hostile's head. The alien moved not a muscle, but in its eyes John thought he perceived…amusement?...at their antics. The alien radiated a sense of authority, seeming to allow this only to calm the Spartans down. John spoke first. "I am Spartan-117 of the United Nations Space Command. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"I am Praetor Artanis," the alien rumbled, but no sound issued from its lack of a mouth. "I speak to you from the depths of the mind, Spartan, and this is a place of comfort to you," it continued, waving a hand across the landscape around them.

Linda spoke first. "You're speaking to us from inside our heads?"

"Indeed," Artanis rumbled. "It is clear to me now that you are not those of the dread Covenant, but I must inquire, what brings you onto one of their vessels?"

"We pursued this ship, as it…" John hesitated. Dare he tell the alien of the UNSC's secrets?

Artanis immediately comprehended what was occurring. "I understand your concerns, Spartans," he said to all of them. "For I command the ships in this sector, and security is a necessity also for myself and those of my fellow warriors. I sense it is the same amongst your kind, if not more so."

John nodded, and took off his helmet. He wanted to see the alien with his own two eyes. "This is so. The necessities of the state demand it to be that way."

"True." The world swirled around the Spartans, and John wasn't surprised to see Harvest, the first time. They stood on a different place than they had the last time, virtually in the middle of the field, but the Zerg made no motion to attack. He fired a round into a Zergling, and the Zergling didn't move at all in response. "This isn't real?"

"A mere image, a recorded memory, from your memories and the being called Linda," Artanis motioned towards her. "One cannot truly bring back the past, only learn from it."

John saw his position, and they swirled closer. He saw himself, and Sam, and Kelly, and Linda. He saw all of his generation, all of his blood-brother and sisters. And…they were all dead now. For a fraction of a second, he felt grief, a powerful foe that sought to rend his chest asunder.

"Fallen comrades," Artanis sighed. "I, too, have lost many in my life at the hands of the Covenant, though these are not Covenant. They are…?"

"Zerg," John whispered, head bowed in turmoil. "First here, then other worlds. We've been fighting them back for years, now."

"I have heard of the Zerg, though only recently," Artanis admitted. "I have never seen them in action, before, and they seem like a scourge upon the land."

"A scourge of worlds, alien," Linda snapped. "Once they're on a planet, the only recourse left is to destroy that world. And where is our ship?"

"You are still on it, just still and silent, immersed in memories," Artanis said, planting his staff firmly into the soil as the Zerg swarmed at the past. "And there's more," and the world changed again.

For a microsecond John frantically motioned to put his helmet on again, but then he realized this was a dream, no, a memory. "The Cerebrate," he whispered, seeing the shattered world before him. "If you're trying to comfort me, this vista isn't going to help," he snarled at the Protoss, who didn't respond. John sighed. "We were ambushed here," and the world refocused, seeing the Spartans walking with Zerg three feet from them, and them not even noticing. "We were blind, and the Cerebrate took advantage of…our bloodline, to manipulate what we perceived as real," he said, knowing he shouldn't speak this to an alien of all things. But with a mind-reader, it was clear this Artanis knew everything already.

"Part of the alien," Artanish muttered. "You creators seem to have kept the best of both worlds, and in addition kept your humanity with you as well. A fine concept, so long as this "Cerebrate" creature doesn't control you again."

"You can read my mind, alien Artanis," John snapped, patience finally wearing thin. "I think you know the answer to that."

The world swirled again, and a large audience chamber arose, with John on the stage in a wheelchair, crippled from the Zerg ambush, and men of power in front and all around him. "No question such as the one posed has a definitive answer, as the world of the mind can play tricks on even those experienced in its use. You saw the Cerebrate's mind, as he saw yours, Spartan," Artanis rumbled, "and you warned you country, your people, of the threat."

"It was barely in time. We had only a few weeks before the Zerg arrived, but we made good use of it."

"As I see." Artanis watched from the viewport of a Battlecruiser as a NOVA went off, searing the heavens. "You possess powerful weapons, and…you know of us, as well?" His tone was that of confusion, curiosity.

"That's a long story," John said, "plus one that I don't know very well, and I'm not the best to tell it regardless. Make us reappear on the Covenant ship."

"As you wish." The Spartans reformed on the bridge, and John felt his true limbs come back to life. These Protoss were dangerous with such power at their call, and he must tread carefully with them. Artanis' visage rippled, then solidified next to him, and this time he didn't aim his rifle at the alien's head, knowing it would be useless. "I am still on my ship, and my concentration is failing," Artanis admitted. "Would you mind meeting myself and my senior officers onboard my vessel? I shall give you a tour of our ship, and perhaps you can tell me of how you know of Protoss when the opposite cannot be said of us."

"Certainly. I'll select five Spartans including myself, the rest shall man this ship and get it repaired. We need to get back to Jericho V, the world we captured this vessel from. Our superiors do not know of our plight."

"I understand. Our technicians have more than a passing familiarity with Covenant vessels. If there is anything we can do to assist…?"

"Perhaps some technicians who are familiar with Covenant engines," John admitted. "We spared the Engineers from death, as they're non-hostile, but our ship fired on this one, not knowing we were onboard, and cored two of the three primary reactors. That's the main problem."

"I'll send three shuttles worth of our best technicians over, as well as three platoons of Zealots and one of Dragoons, Archons, and High Templar to assist your defenses, if that is all right with you."

The Spartan put his helmet back on. "That is agreeable, so long as we maintain control of this ship." The Master Chief's voice left no argument on this matter.

"We do not like Covenant designs, and desire no hold of them," Artanis looked around, his voice tinged with disdain. "They are art without sophistication, and power without knowledge or restraint. Also, many of my best warriors, including myself, have negative memories of battles in the corridors of ships such as this one."

"My apologies." The Master Chief knew what it was like to have lost kin and blood during war, and many of the Spartans nodded in agreement.

"Thank you." Artanis' image paused, wavering. "I shall attend to all of the necessary arrangements. We shall speak soon, face to face." He vanished.

Chief looked up, and saw the Spartans around him. They were in various states of shock, awe, and many were deep in thought. John could tell their state of mind just from their body postures, and didn't need to see their faces to know their true feelings. He looked at the avatar of Cortana, who was staring at them in confusion. "Cortana—?"

"What the hell were all of you doing?" she demanded angrily. "I've been standing here for five minutes, and you've all been totally unresponsive to any of my questions! And then you come out of it and start talking to thin air! What gives?"

Ah; Chief had just learned another one of the limitations of AI. "I'll tell you later, but it involves psionics. Prepare the nearest shuttle bay to the bridge for the arrival of Protoss shuttles; make sure their way is kept clear."

"As you will, though I'm going to want a long talk with you afterwards." She vanished back into the system, to rally the Engineers to their tasks.

Chief turned to the Spartans. "Linda, Samson, Thorne, Winchester, with me. We should go and greet our new guests."

Chapter Sixteen, Part Two

The first observation Chief made about the Protoss was that they built big, very big. With two thirty feet wide entrances covered in an atmospheric force field, their combat shuttles were barely large enough to fit in one of those entrances. As it was, it took over four groups of two shuttles each to fully offload their material and tools for analysis.

In terms of size, their military personnel were immense. Any thoughts Chief might have had on Aldaris' three-meter being an aberration were put to rest when twenty Zealots, each the same size, came thudding off of their shuttle's deployed ramps. They each wore massive golden gauntlets on both their arms, and a massive armored chestpiece which had two wide hoops of metal looping around their shoulders. Armor plates covered their legs all the way to their hoof-like feet, where massive clawed golden boots covered them, thudding on the Covenant deck with a massive metallic clank. They carried helmets with small silver wings tucked under their right arms, not needing them Chief imagined until combat operations began. Their armor was incredibly ornate, with glyphs and multi-layered designs on it, rendering their apparatus incredibly beautiful as well as functional.

The closest of the Zealots, who had kept his helmet on, noticed the party of Spartans and moved towards them slowly. Chief stiffened his spine as the massive alien moved and finally stood before them; he noticed the other Spartans responding in much the same way. Aside from Covenant Hunters, none of them had ever been this physically close to an entity this size, and none that weren't hostile.

"Are you the Unit Leader of this vessel?" the creature rumbled inside their minds, as none of the Zealots like Aldaris had had mouths.

"Yes, I am. Spartan-117 at your service," Chief said cautiously. "What are your orders?"

" I am Warrior Leader Hulsan, and these are my men," the Protoss said by way of introduction. "We are to secure the hangar bays and possible places on this ship where Covenant boarding pods might breach the hull. Praetor Artanis has suspicions that the Covenant will not take the acquisition of this vessel lightly. We will also deploy troops to guard our technicians and the Engineers onboard."

"Sounds acceptable. Thank you for the assistance."

"Not at all, human. I must see to my men." The massive figure nodded curtly, turning to receive the next batch of shuttles. The Protoss technicians were busy loading their equipment onto hoversleds of some kind, wheeling them out of the hangar bays quickly, as Cortana had unlocked all of the doors for them. Chief shrugged; he guessed they knew where they were going better than he did, but he radioed quietly for a few Spartans to meet up with them in Engineering, just in case.

The next batch of shuttles opened their doors; one released more technicians, and the other released massive four-legged machines, moving much like spiders. They also had golden armor on their chassis and especially in the center, where Chief saw an armored golden ball with thick bundles of circuitry in it.

The Protoss leader, Hulsan his name was, noticed Chief's curiosity. "These are Dragoons, warrior. When a Zealot or warrior of the Khala is mortally wounded, his mind and remains are placed in these walking exoskeletons, so as to continue to serve."

"Ah." Creepy, but effective. "What weapons do they deploy?"

"Their main weapons are antimatter bolts sheathed in a psychically-charged field. Even scarred and mutilated, they still possess formidable psionic power. They can also fight with retractable claws on the tips of their mechanical legs."

"Just so long as they don't blow out the hull when they fire those bolts of theirs," Chief cautioned.

"We know better than that, human." The shuttles departed, and two more approached. The ramps swung open, and Chief was amazed to see a billowing cloud of white light, that seemed to be the best description for them, seem to float out of the shuttle standing before them silently. Chief looked closer and could the barest outlines of limbs and stolid faces inside that maelstrom of energy. "Archons, our most powerful psionic warriors," Hulsan continued proudly. "One can fend off armies, and we have brought twenty of them."

Chief bowed slightly to the massive apparition. "I am honored."

The Archon turned its blazing eyes to the Chief, and Chief felt this totemic being sifting through his mind, absorbing his experiences, his memories. The being screamed in his mind, unintentionally it seemed, "Your thoughts betray you; I see you have an appetite for destruction. Thorsoh cop!" Slowly, the Archon twisted downwards in a parody of bowing, then silently floated away. He guessed he'd been deemed worthy of a bow.

Hulsan stared. "They rarely speak, Spartan. Honor is yours, it seems."

"Thank you." The last group of shuttles came in, and Chief saw at least twenty beings dressed much like Zealots, except in some sort of armored golden robes, with many more glyphs and runes on them than their more physical warriors. Their headpieces were smaller, but crackled with a hidden menace. Their eyes burned. "Who are these?"

"High Templar, our most advanced psychic warriors short of Archons themselves. They possess the abilities of illusion and disguise, and can shred the minds of their foes from a distance in storms of frightening power."

One of these High Templar approached, standing before Chief and Hulsan. "Khassar de Templari," it seemed to whisper in John's mind. "Your thoughts?" John understood what it was asking for, and motioned to Hulsan silently. The High Templar turned, and with a burst of brief but intense psionic activity both parties walked their separate ways, as the last of the shuttles had emptied their cargo and had flown away. Through the shimmering violet haze of the force field, Chief could see the Protoss fighters called Scouts flying in formation alongside the hull.

Hulsan returned, accompanied by several Zealots, a Dragoon, an Archon, and a High Templar. Chief summoned Linda and the other to his side, as they had remained silent, perfectly content to let John do the talking for them. The war party stood, staring at each other summing up each other's capabilities. Hulsan spoke first. "Spartan, our plan is to reinforce those areas on this ship most likely for the Covenant to try and gain access through. We will be leaving the Dragoons and a few Zealots here, and the rest will be deployed throughout the vessel."

Chief nodded. "That is acceptable. Cortana has enabled universal access through all doors, so nothing should hinder your progress. If the Covenant attack, my Spartans will be deployed in groups of three to fight with your groups. Linda here," and he motioned to the silent woman next to him, "will coordinate with you on that regard, and will brief you on the capabilities of our weapons." She nodded.

"Very well." Hulsan's platoon leaders departed, and he and Linda began a telepathic conversation on how best to deploy their assets, Linda deploying a holographic map of the Covenant ship for quicker communication.

She walked quickly back to the Spartans, who were watching the Zealots huddled in small groups facing each other, looking for all the world like they were praying. "It's done," she said. "I sent a burst to Cortana, so she knows what's going on as well."

"Good. Unit Leader Hulsan, might we hitch a ride on one of your shuttles to your ship?"

"Certainly…one is on its way." Several minutes later, an empty shuttle pulled up, and Chief and the others walked inside it. They swiftly departed.

Chapter Sixteen, Part Three

The shuttle rocked and Chief turned his head silently at the others. With the shuttle being automated and possessing no natural pilot, Chief could only inquire as to what was going on. A second impact hit the shuttle, much harder, and Chief scowled as Artanis' voice echoed in his mind. "We're turning the shuttle around, human, to take you back," Artanis said by way of an apology. "Three Covenant cruisers have emerged from Slipspace right on top of us, and it's not a good idea to approach now."

"Understood. Could we keep the shuttle?"

"It will remain in your hangar bay until we can retrieve it. Depending on the course of the battle it may end up permanently there," Artanis smirked mentally.

"Thank you." Artanis' voice vanished.

The shuttle docked back in the hangar bay with a gentle rocking motion, and the Spartans emerged to find chaos. Zealots were preparing weapons emplacements and High Templar were levitating Dragoons into position on the higher balconies. Chief nodded to Hulsan then proceeded to contact the Bridge. "Cortana, what's going on?"

"Three Covenant cruisers, the same class as the _Truth and Reconciliation_. They're engaging the Protoss vessel directly, and are sending what appears to be their entire boarding pod complement at us. They must really want that crystal."

"I bet. Do we have a team in position to defend it?"

"Actually that was the first thing I did, Chief," Cortana said snidely. "Spartans. We have further teams rippling out from that central location."

"Good. We're on our way to the crystal room."

"Great. My shields are dropping under the fire the cruisers are sending my way, and the one reactor can't power most of the higher-power weapons. When you get there the boarding pods will be close to breaking through, and I won't be able to get all of them, so I'll be locking down sections of the ship to keep as many groups contained as I can."

"Understood." Chief and his four companions moved swiftly, and soon emerged close to the crystal room. He turned to his comrades. "We hold them here."

Deep in the bowels of the ship, in the chamber which in fact had been used to keep the Engineers while the ship had been depressurized, a series of ripples in the air, about eight feet tall, began to move towards the exit. As one, they raised their plasma rifles and carbines, and moved quickly but silently to the Crystal Room.

Chief raised his weapon as the door to the left of the corridor buckled inwards, then cracked and split. The four Hunters behind it roared a bestial challenge and raised their Fuel Rod Guns, but managed only two salvoes of the thick radioactive explosive before getting partially vaporized by the Spartan's remaining HKLs. The accelerators useless without rounds to fire, the Spartans threw them to the ground and raised their primary weapons as waves of Elites charged into the hallway, spraying plasma fire everywhere.

Their shields recharging from the Hunter's vicious salvos, the soldiers threw fragmentation and captured plasma grenades down the hallway, the detonation vaporizing several Elites and blowing several other to bloody pieces. Behind them poured in more troops, Jackals with beam rifles and their traditional shields. "Fall back!" Chief barked, and they moved back, Cortana locking the doors down. He waited a moment, then thumbed the weapons transmitter, and the rest of the satchel charges that they had had at their feet blew, causing the door to buckle slightly, knocking it out of alignment with the door frame. Outside, howls of agony were clearly heard, and the Spartans quickly reloaded and double-checked their weapons.

Outside, several white armor-clad Grunts set up a massive plasma cutter, which began slowly burning its way through the door the hard way. One of the defensive mechanisms built into Covenant ships is the fact that their doors are coated in the same alloys as a Hunter's shield, which renders it virtually indestructible to any conventional weapon that the Covenant had ever seen.

Chief heard and felt the plasma cutter revving into action, and briefly checked the crystal. It was on a massive pedestal, held in mid-air by an anti-grav generator. "Cortana," when they cut through the door, prepare to shut down the anti-grav generator please."

"Sure thing Chief. Oh, and those Elites are Special Ops, the best of the best. They have Grunts with Fuel Rod Guns with them."

"Never rains but it pours," Linda muttered, and Chief smirked briefly.

The Elite in charge outside the armored door snarled in impatience. Their assignment was to retrieve the crystal from the Reconciliation, then destroy it, as the filthy primitive humans had desecrated it with their filthy footsteps. The crystal was the cartographic key, the Prophet of Truth had told him personally, to finding the coordinates to one of the Halo rings, and Rasal'mee could feel the weight of eons pressing down on him. By the Gods, he could not, would not, fail.

But these warriors, these Spartans, had devastated Covenant troops in virtually every encounter with them. As it was, when the Slipspace distress beacon on this ship had activated, every large infantry force in the entire sector had been rounded up and placed on the fastest cruisers available, and even then it had taken over twelve hours to catch up with the captured vessel.

And the Protoss vessel…entirely unanticipated. Rasal'mee had been there when the Shipmaster for the _Homeworld's Light_ had exited Slipspace, and he had added a few new expletives to his vocabulary soon afterwards. The implications were obvious; if the humans and the Protoss were in an alliance, sharing resources, personnel, knowledge…this could be bad, real bad. A primitive race such as the humans might just become not-so-primitive, after all, with Protoss assistance. Rasal'mee, a veteran of many campaigns against the Protoss, knew full well how their accursed psionics gave them an edge, and if the Spartans joined with them…he shuddered internally.

Those thoughts were for later; now the artifact must be secured, and the Spartans somehow prevented from keeping or destroying it. "How much longer?" he snarled.

"Two minutes, maybe less," the lead Grunt chirped.

Rasal'mee snorted. "About time."

A sudden rustle to his left caused Rasal'mme to pull out his plasma blade and ignite it, but a chuckle from the shadows caused him to lower it. "Lower your sword, soldier. The Shipmaster of this ship is still alive and in the flesh."

Rasal'mee dropped his blade in shock, while the Grunts around him bowed slightly towards the ground. "Shipmaster Yolu? How is it that you yet live?"

An invisible hand patted his armored shoulder. "I was forced to hide while they decompressed the ship. Somehow, these wretched vermin have learned to access and control our computer systems, down to the slightest minute detail. I and my elite cadre of soldiers were forced to activate our active camouflage and bide our time. The crystal is worth more to the glory of the Covenant than my honor is."

"If you are lucky, Shipmaster, this is your chance to regain your honor," Rasal'mee said. Their voices were masked by the noise of the plasma cutter, so he felt he could speak without even the humans knowing of what was going on. "I am cutting through the dor now. My forces shall back off when it is done, and you shall sneak in, avoiding the accursed Spartans. From our records, if you ignite a plasma blade they will track you from the position of the sword, so stick to your guns. I advise that firing would probably be a big mistake."

"Agreed. My men and I stand ready."

"Good…uhm, how many are in your retinue?"

"Only four including myself. Nobody else was available in time."

"A tragic loss. Here, back off and wait; our work is almost complete."

The two separated, and the Grunt with the cutter finished, the thick metal door falling inwards, red hot at the edges. The Grunt leaped backwards as massed rifle fire reached towards him, but it survived with marginal burns to his leg. Rasal'mee and his fellow Elites silently threw half a dozen plasma grenades into the room. There was a thump, then a silence, and Rasal'mee motioned to the invisible figure of Shipmaster Yolu to move into the room.

Silently, the four camouflaged Elites moved across the red-hot threshold, deploying instantly to the corners of the room. So far the Spartans were still fixed on the doorway itself if their rigid posture was anything to go by, and with a howl Rasal'mee flew past the door firing wildly at the Spartans, his troops following suit. While the Spartans began firing back in kind, killing several Elites and Grunts in total, Yolu silently walked behind the Spartans, reaching forth and grabbing the crystal quickly.

The Master Chief jerked as an alarm sounded from behind him, and cursed when he saw the crystal inexplicably gone. "Cortana, what just happened?"

"Something broke the anti-grav generator's equilibrium, sounding the alarm. Other than that, I have no idea."

John nodded, his mind whirring. Quickly, his eyes darted around the room, noticing the ripples against the wall quickly. With his tongue he quietly thumbed the comm signal for Linda' suit. "Linda, we have invisible friends in the area, 3 o'clock and 9 o'clock. Don't move or nod your head, just thumb an affirmative." Several Elites charged through the door, firing Fuel Rod Guns, but were put down quickly, the Spartan's shields quickly regenerating from the loss. Linda's confirmation signal flicked on in the Chief's HUD. "Good. On my signal, fire at the lead one on the right…Fire."

Yolu staggered as several rounds from the Spartan's hideously large rifle spat at him. Three rounds went through his right shoulder, virtually turning it into pulp, two bouncing off of his angled helm into the wall. He cursed, breaking the silence of his approach and running out of the room as fast as possible. He shouted, "Sangheilli! For the Covenant!" As he ran, the rest of his group, as well as Rasal'mee and his men, charged into the room, plasma swords flaring, screams and battle cries at their mandibles.

He didn't stop running until he had put several dozen meters between himself and that room, then leaning against the wall and gasping for breath. He could feel his battle armor patching up some of his wounds, but he could feel his shoulder bones, complex structures that they were, shattered, swelling and screaming in pain. His right arm was numb as well, his attempts at flexing his fingers not entirely successful.

He shrugged. Oh well, it was a good thing he was naturally left-handed then.

He focused, the medication from his suit finally kicking in. He had to get to the hangar bay; that's where the dropships proper would be landing.

The Zealots in the Hangar bay, as well as their fellow Protoss warriors, were still and tranquil, conserving their inner energies for when they needed them. All of the preparations had been made, and they merely waited for the dread Covenant troops to arrive.

Finally they came, u-shaped dropships swooping in through the hangar bay's force field. Dragoons began firing their anti-proton bolts at full power, blasting holes in the dropship's armored hulls but not stopping them from releasing their passengers. High Templar focused and the Elites disembarking fell, their brains and nervous system fried and imploded from the inside. They soon withdrew to replenish their energies, but left over two dozen Elites dead.

With the High Templars having done their duty, Hulsan roared, "For the Khala!" and charged, his energy blades aflame with terrible power. The Zealots moved swiftly in after him, attacking the debarking Covenant troops, which seemed to be largely composed of Elites, clad in the white armor of spec-ops troops. Funneling their psionic power, Zealots began moving at speeds nigh-incomprehensible, the Elites fighting back viciously with their native skill with their blades.

Hulsan selected their leader, an armored Elite armed only with a plasma sword. Hulsan roared out a challenge, and the Elite's mandible pulled back in the creature's version of a grimace. The two moved in, Hulsan's psionic blades, aimed at the Elite's face, which were blocked by the Elite's plasma sword, one of the few things that indeed could. One arm swung for a low blow to the legs, the other swung to the creature's chest. The Elite leaped, avoiding the first, and blocking the second, the next moment delivering a tremendous blow to the Protoss' face with his armored hooves.

Hulsan flipped backwards with the blow, landing on his feet lightly, and waved his hand, pushing the Elite back from his lunge and knocking his plasma sword out of his hand, which automatically deactivated and fell to the floor. The Elite lunged for the blade to reactivate it, but Hulsan stopped his approach with a well-swung movement of his blades. The Elite's chest and head and legs fell to the floor in separate sections, blue ichor spreading on the hangar floor. Hulsan shrugged, then moved on to another target.

Another dropship landed after the others had departed, releasing eight Hunters into the hangar bay, which was becoming slick with the floor of Zealot and Elite alike, though many more of the latter than the former. Dragoons began firing at the Hunters, downing one, but the rest raised their thick broad shields and fired at the Dragoons, cracking one's dome and spilling the veteran's desiccated body onto the floor, where it shimmered with a blue glow then vanished. The remaining Dragoons pulled back, vulnerable to the Hunter's radioactive projectiles, and continued firing on the dropships until they had departed, great smoking holes in the dropship's flanks.

Hulsan and the wounded Zealots retreated as the Hunter's Fuel Rod guns began firing salvoes in all directions, and the two Archons, which until now had stayed back for fear of hurting their comrades as well as their enemies with their sheer might, hovered into visible sight. Searing white light flaring through the room, the Zealots retreated out of the room through several conveniently-opening doorways, courtesy of Cortana, and the Archons let loose with their full might. Arcs of lightning sufficient to damage starships lanced out, the Hunters in their sights, and with crackling energies three Hunters exploded, their screams slowly fading from audible hearing.

The four Hunters left paused, then fired at full power. The Archon's shields flickered as the explosive radioactive rounds smashed into, but even the Archons were knocked back several feet by the kinetic energy of the rounds. The Archons snarled, roaring "Devastation!" Then brought their ethereal hands together in a massive thunderclap. With a massive thundering boom, two more Hunters were thrown against the wall, the worms making up the Hunter's body instantly pulped into jelly.

Their patience ended, the Archons flared even brighter, their hands' claws extending into energy blades of terrible brightness and power, and with a lunge virtually faster than the transmission of neurons from the brain to the limbs connected to it, the Archons were among them. Cutting through energy and metal and bone effortlessly, the Archons roared as they butchered the two left, their eyes glowing white, then red, then blue, then to white again. Their laughter sounded like a thousand insane convicts murdering at will in their version of heaven, and when the carnage was over nothing remained of the Hunters barring little slivers of metal the size of human toothpicks.

Hulsan shook his tendrils at the carnage wreaked, but his soul was glad for this opportunity for battle. The price had been moderate, only a handful of Zealots killed and the Dragoon, but the majority of his force remained intact. And the Archons…Hulsan was glad he had hidden from their might, as when enraged their energies tended to destroy friend as well as foe. They had hidden behind the thick metal doors, listening to the sounds of battle. There had been a roaring, then tearing, then a sound like that of thunder, then all had ceased but for an unearthly silence, that of the dead. They had re-entered the Hangar Bay, and aside from the Archons the hangar bay was virtually clean save for small slivers of metal.

They prepared for more dropships landing, but none came. The two Covenant cruisers intact, one destroyed, had fled.

Shipmaster Yolu listened to his receiver while he huddled alone in the shuttle. It seems the Covenant's assault on the beleaguered vessel had failed, and the attempt to self-destruct it was over, killed by the Spartans and a few Elites.

Yolu smiled. While the dreaded Archons had been busy eliminating the Hunters, he had clambered onboard the shuttle they had just departed, still invisible, and had silently rejoiced when he had made it off of the ship. From his view from the dropship's sensors, his former command's weapons were largely gone, barring some defensive weapons that were irrelevant to their defense, and their shields were down as well. Great gaping holes had been burned into the ship from plasma torpedoes impacting the sides of the ship, and Yolu winced at what had been done to his command.

"Shipmaster, we are docking with the _Homeworld's Light_. Their Shipmaster is waiting to meet you."

"Very well." Yolu cradled the red crystal, pulsating now in a low color, like a child. He had, at least partially, regained his honor.


	20. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

7 weeks later

Ceres, Orbital Docks

Space Construction Yards, Top Secret Projects

Admiral Palmer and Miranda Keyes looked out over the spread-out shipyards, skeletal metal beams enfolding massive slabs of raw materials and asteroids ready to be processed. Industrial space-smelters absorbed entire multi-kilometer asteroids raw, breaking them down into their component atoms via fusion torches and using nano-assemblers to weave entire ships together in perfect symmetry and strength. The glow of the fusion flames rippled out from the smelter's entrance like the fire of a god, and Keyes winced. "I'm always impressed when I visit here, sir. I honestly can't imagine anything more impressive than…than that."

Palmer smiled, but kept his eye on the terminator of the asteroid, as their transport skimmed over its surface. "Well, Miranda, I can assure you that you'll be more than impressed with this. Turn around."

"What—" Then Keyes stood with his mouth hung open in shock.

As the shuttle rounded the final hill over the asteroid's surface, a view shone upon the two men's eyes, a spectacle of lights and a mountain. At least that's what it appeared to be. The object in question was in the center of more nano-assembler deployers than Keyes had ever seen. It was a rounded potato in shape, with two clear bulges on two sides of it even now. It looked translucent, as if it wasn't quite real; with a squint one could almost see through the framework to the other side. Asteroids and smelters clustered all along the object, feeding yet more mass to it at a rate that made Keyes' mind boggle. There was nothing so large like it in all of Known Space, barring some of the nastiest Covenant ships the UNSC had run into. "What the hell…is that?"

"That is the future," and Palmer smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's the Bastion-class Monitor, first of its kind. With the new FTL that the Kobolians gave us, we can build ships many times larger than before, not needing to worry quite so much about building them to stand accelerations and so forth. It's meant to act as an area-denial weapon, though we're referring to it as a "monitor-carrier" in the military terminology because it can carry so much inside of it."

"How're they making it?"

"Hollowed-out iron-nickel asteroid, mostly, though the nanoassemblers are sculpting the inside for our own purposes, reinforced with polyalloy materials and so forth. We think these will prove to be the key against those nastier Covenant ships like their Assault Carriers, but right now construction is slow. With the shielding we're installing into them, as well as the new triple-fire SMAC guns inside, these things should be virtually indestructible. They're also in possession of our new Defensive Matrix field projectors, counter-rotating gravitic pulses that act as a fourth absorber of enemy fire."

"Can this be installed in our other ships, too?"

"Yeah, the new ship classes coming out will have MAC guns and Defensive Matrix shielding installed as well as PBCs in limited numbers, and we'll be rotating our older ship classes in for retrofits as we go, bring them up to our new tech level."

Keyes had a thought, and turned to Palmer, crossing her arms. "Say, why're you telling me all of this? I'm just a Company commander, for God's sake!"

"You're going to be the first commander of this class."

Keyes' eyes bulged. "Sir, though I'm posted to be put on the command track, this is ridiculous! I haven't even begun the new classes at the academy yet!"

"Which is why we're doing this now, Keyes, and you're it. This way we can teach the new doctrines and tricks of the trade for these babies before your get your head cluttered up with the old stuff you don't need.´ Palmer laughed. "Command has you marked for high achievements."

Keyes sighed. If Command was involved on this one, she knew there was no way of getting out of it. "Alright. What's the ship's name going to be, sir?"

"Considering the first of our new Battlestars is going to be named _Enterprise_, we can't name it that. We've decided on…the _Reliant_."

"Reliant." Keyes rolled the word out on her tongue, liking the feel of it. "Sounds good, sir. Good name for a ship."

"That's we skipped _Challenger_ on the list of contestants." The two smirked, sharing the old space joke.

"Yes sir," Keyes choked out smiling. She sobered up quickly. "So, where we going with it?"

"We've retrieved some intel from an old friend, but it isn't good…"

Sigma Octanus IV

Same time

Captain Jacob Keyes fell to the floor as the _Pillar of Autumn II_ shuddered. He really needed to learn to role with the blows, or maybe just stay put in his seat, he thought wryly as he crawled back into the command chair. Technically that was what regulations said, but he was always too filled with energy, too needing to move, once the battle had begun. "How many ships now, tactical?"

"Over 800 Covenant ships, and they're still coming, sir. Admiral Cole reports the task force on intercept, eta sixteen minutes."

"Great." Ok, so they only needed to last about sixteen minutes of open combat with around 800 Covenant ships. "Ok, jump our ship to the following coordinates," and he pulsed a string of numbers to the helm through his neural lace. "Set our ACIPBMs to automatic target acquisition, then fire them all at once right on top of them. Fire every PBC on full blast once we emerge, then give them fire from our MACs on those same ships."

"Aye sir." The Ares-class CCS Battleship moved at full burn towards the Covenant forces. "Covenant lead ships in our engagement envelope, sir. Plasma torpedoes inbound, about 150 of them."

"Order our Longswords to intercept, then target two of their foremost ships and fire our MACs at them. Then jump and carry out my previous orders." That should trick the Covenant, if he was lucky, into thinking he was staying in the same place.

"Longswords in intercept positions, sir. Over 30 percent of their torpedoes have been shot down."

"Open up with our defense grid, and get those MACs targeted!"

"Aye sir…MACs fully charged, sir, Jump Drive charged as well."

"Open fire."

From the kilometer-long behemoth's massive dual MAC guns erupted two 100-ton depleted-uranium/tungsten slugs with a micro-nuclear warhead in the center. They streaked across space at .1c and struck the lead Covenant ship dead-on, smashing their shields flat and continuing to penetrate them due to excess kinetic energy and the Covenant ship's reverse momentum. Once the internal sensors of the slug detected its presence inside, the micro-nuke detonated, and Keyes saw the rear half of the ship blow out, molten shrapnel spraying out and smashing the shields down of all of the ships behind it in range. "Fantastic job, Targeting," Keyes said, pumping a fist in the air. "Jump now!"

The Ares-class battleship disappeared from normal space for a fraction of infinity, then reappeared directly in front of the shattered ship, firing its massive PBC arrays in all of its frontal arcs. Several ships were hammered with the massive bomb-pumped particle beam, their shields collapsing, and the _Pillar of Autumn II_'s MACs opened fire with conventional non-nuke rounds, shredding the Covenant ships and tearing seven of them in half lengthwise.

Even as those weapons were firing, over 125 ACIPBMs launched, finding their own targets with their own sensors. At such close range to the Covenant armada, it didn't matter whose sensor suite locked on, and indeed this saved valuable time. Flashing their own FTL drives and detonating barely a meter above hundreds of Covenant ship's shields, hammering them down and scorching their hulls with the excess fire left, dozens of Covenant ships were left crippled in space, their systems fried if not massively damaged.

"Jump!"

The _Pillar of Autumn II_ flashed back to orbit Sigma Octanus IV, still several light-seconds away from the Covenant force. "Sir, Admiral Cole reports their Longswords inbound with their own ACIPBMs, and their ships are close behind. Looks like we finally got our backup."

"Inform Admiral Cole of my thanks, and prepare to retrieve our Longswords and rearm them. We're still not in the clear yet. Tactical, just how many of the bastards did we kill?"

"Reading…about 187 of their ships, sir. It seems the shrapnel from our nuclear MAC rounds were more effective than expected."

"Very good, very good indeed," Keyes smirked. Finally, it looked like the UNSC was prepared to meet their foes on something of an even footing.


End file.
